No Brakes
by LittleBlondeGoth
Summary: Vincent Valentine, Turk, from thirty years ago. How he became the man found buried in a basement coffin, locked away from the world. Original game canon.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I started this way back in 2003, but somewhere along the line, life got in the way and I never got round to finishing it. __Then when I did decide to pick it up again, I couldn't get back into the account. I started to rewrite it using a new account name, but would you believe, I can now access this one again. So I've transferred all my rewrites and tweaks to this one._

_Since it was written, both Advent Children and Dirge of Cerberus have been released, so technically speaking it's riddled with inconsistencies and is in no way canon at all. You'll find a few things have been brought in line though, like Lucrecia's surname._

_A__nd after all that hassle... Enjoy "No Brakes"._

oOo

The three men sat on high stools next to the bar, drinks in hand and talking idly. Or rather two of them did. The third had his head resting on the smooth wooden bar top, his raven black hair falling across his face, fast asleep, one of his hands still loosely curled around a half full shot glass. Numerous other glasses were littered around them on the surface, although these were conspicuously empty.

One took a long drag on the remains of a stubby roll-up, breathing out a cloud of smoke. Gazing at the battered cigarette for a few moments, he leisurely flicked ash over the floor, before offering it to his companion.

The other man gave a slight questioning look, a subtle raise of an elegantly arched eyebrow, before accepting.

"These things will be the death of you, you know."

The first pointedly ignored him, instead reaching up to his ear to check for a replacement. No luck. Murmuring a curse under his breath, he ran his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair and reached into his jacket. Locating a pristine packet of cigarettes, he unwrapped them from the plastic, opened the box and pulled out a fag with his teeth. Returning the box to his pocket, he patted down his suit.

"Got a light?" he muttered through his slightly open mouth. The second man shook his head, himself finishing off the remnant of the last cigarette. Taking his new one out of his mouth, the first swivelled round slightly on his chair to face the rest of the room.

The bar itself was healthily busy; the majority of the tables were occupied. A group of businessmen were parked in one corner having a game of poker. Nearby, two more were trying their luck at darts. All around, people were drinking quietly. Too quietly. A few years ago, the bar had to undergo a refit every few months or so to replace broken furniture, but there hadn't been a fight in here for a long time. No-one started trouble in this establishment any more.

"Anyone got a light?" the man shouted to the room at large. Silence greeted him. Any patrons who had looked up at the request swiftly averted their eyes, returning to their own drinks. He snorted loudly. "For fucks sake… Shop!" Banging his hand on the top surface, he yelled towards the barman. A couple of the empty glasses jumped up from the counter, tinkling prettily.

His drinking buddy rolled his eyes towards the heavens. "Keep it down, man" he advised. "You'll wake the Sleeping Beauty there." He gestured towards the third man, who was still out for the count.

"Deacon. Bite me" replied the first promptly. He glanced down to their unconscious colleague. "And as for him…" His attention was diverted before he could bestow any more pearls of wisdom by the arrival of the barman, hurrying over to serve him.

"Get me a lighter and another round" he ordered, slapping down a wad of Gil notes. "Nah, damnit better make that another three. We got all night…"

Doing a quick bit of mental arithmetic, the barman gave a quick glance towards the third man before nodding in assent. He wasn't about to argue, instead he pocketed the Gil and poured out nine more shots of the houses' finest sipping whisky. Pushing the order across the bar, he scuttled off to the till. He was always careful never to overcharge these particular customers.

Having given the man his change, the barkeep began clearing up the empties. There were a lot of them. It had to be said that whilst their adoption of his bar had resulted in the loss of more than a few regulars, these three certainly made up for them, accounting for a large portion of his profits. He stacked them up carefully, one after the other. Noticing the half empty glass near the sleeping mans' hand, he reached forward to pick it up. "Excuse me, but is this one fin… Aaah!"

He never got any further than that. Although he would swear later that the guy had been practically passed out on the bar, the man's' hand spasmed, clutching the glass tightly, his head snapped up, fully alert, and his other hand had reached to his side and pulled out a gun. All in the blink of an eye.

The two drinkers barely seemed to notice the sudden transformation, which was more than could be said for the barman, standing stock still, hands quivering, gibbering something about not meaning to do it, please accept his apologies and by all that was holy not to kill him.

Deacon gave a small, longsuffering sigh, as if this were a regular occurrence. "Vincent" he said calmly. "Put the gun down."

The dark haired man blinked a couple of times, coming to and finally seeming to notice that he had a gun held against the trembling barman's' temple. "I hadn't finished" he protested. He lowered his arm away from the barkeeps' head to gesture at the half full glass, except this brought the pistol dangerously level with the barman's' groin. "See?"

Uttering a strangled cry, the poor barman bolted away from the three, scooting out the back to calm his frayed nerves.

"What's with him?"

Deacon sighed again. "Mainly that you went from comatose to holding him at gunpoint. Think you scared the poor dude shitless, he looks like hell on toast…"

"I'm not surprised" chimed in his companion, "I mean one minute dead, the next – bam!" He chuckled. "Even after all this time I still have no idea how you manage to do that. Your reflexes must be wound up tighter than a whor..."

"So would yours be" interrupted the man they called Vincent pointedly, "if you'd had the kind of day I've had." Taking a second to consider the still half-full drink he held, he decided to remedy the situation by knocking it back in one.

"Now be fair" Deacon said, holding up an admonitory finger. "In all honesty, Linden here has had a bit of a shitter as well."

"He has?"

"I have?"

"Yes" he replied to both, who were busy eyeing each other with suspicion. "He tried to chat up a fantastically hot bird today and she told him exactly where to go."

Vincent looked sceptical as Linden moaned into his whiskey. "And _that_ counts as a bad day?" he scoffed. "Give me a break, he should be used to it by now. He hits on practically anything vaguely female with a pulse, and even then he's been known to make exceptions."

"I _do_ have standards, you know" the womaniser in question protested. "Anyway, this one was different. She's got legs all the way up to her armpits and that voice…"

Deacon smirked. "Yeah, she told you to get lost in the sexiest voice imaginable. I've never seen the brush off give a guy a hard on before."

"You may laugh" retorted Linden, seeing his companion sniggering at his plight, "but just you wait till I snag her. Then you'll be laughing on the other side of your face..."

"Look, can we stop talking about fantastically hot women for just one minute?" Vincent asked.

"No" answered Deacon dryly, draining his glass and reaching for another without pause. "You're just jealous because you broke up with Lissa and aren't getting any anymore."

Linden leapt in, happy that the topic had finally been steered off his own shortcomings. "Lissa? Wasn't she that hot chick from Development? Blonde hair, blue eyes, great big…"

"Guys!"

"…I was going to say 'personality', alright Vincent?" Linden finished his sentence without missing a beat. "Hell yeah, now she was a babe. What happened to her in the end?"

Vincent refused to answer the question, stalwartly staring into his drink as if it would provide a route of escape. "No-one wants to hear about my day" he grumbled. Deacon and Linden ignored him, they were on a roll.

"Think she freaked out" Deacon supplied. "You know the usual."

Linden nodded understandingly "Happens to me all the time. They just can't handle the job."

His companion assumed a philosophical expression. "Shame really, since I would really have liked to give her one…"

"Deacon!" Vincent barked. "When you two have quite finished discussing my love life…"

"Or lack of it."

"…Or, yes indeed, lack of it, thank you very much Linden, can we please…"

His plea for a break was cut off by a high pitched ringing noise. He reached inside his deep blue suit jacket and pulled out a small PHS. "Saved by the bell" he muttered, flipping the lid open and bringing the device up to his ear. "Valentine."

He listened carefully, his silence punctuated only by the occasional 'yes' or 'no'. After a few minutes, he closed the PHS and replaced it inside the jacket.

"Drink up you two, we've got to go to work. They'll pick us up in five." He pushed the stool away from the counter and stood up, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to neaten it up. His colleagues immediately finished theirs and rose in unison, pulling on matching blue jackets and smartening up their attire.

"Alright boss" said Linden, adjusting his tie. "What's the job?"

"Later. In the car."

Vincent opened each side of his jacket, revealing twin holsters strapped to his torso. Inside each was a revolver. Having made sure that everything was in order, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and carefully slid them onto his face before heading for the door. A quick gesture, and Linden and Deacon fell in line behind him. Together, the three Turks strode out the exit.


	2. Chapter 2

The Shinra Headquarters was without question the most impressive development in Midgar. Designed exactly in accordance with the Presidents' wishes, it towered far above any of the other buildings in the city. Metallic hued windows shimmered like quicksilver, reaching up over sixty storeys and dwarfing everything for miles, shining out like a beacon proclaiming Shinras' influence.

A sleek, black saloon pulled up outside the front entrance. A few passers-by attempted to peek inside, but the tinted windscreens prevented their eager eyes from seeing anything they should not. The engine ground to a halt, and three men dressed in immaculate dark blue suits climbed out, slamming the doors behind them. Striding up to the Headquarters' main entrance, the more curious pedestrians quickly moved aside to let the Turks through, a little in awe of the world renowned men, but mostly afraid – part of their renown was the grisly reputation they carried with them.

A pair of pristine glass doors slid open to admit the Turks to the building. Inside, a vast array of wood, chrome and potted plants made up the reception area. The whole place had been designed to impress, and the interior décor was no exception. The President had obviously spared little expense in his quest for opulence. Some long serving employees joked that you could generally spot people who had never been inside before by the way they stood wide eyed and open mouthed in the reception for ten minutes before doing anything else.

Not so the Turks.

Walking purposefully as if they owned the HQ, the triangle of suited men went straight up to the main desk, ignoring their palatial surroundings. The secretary on duty looked up from her paperwork and smiled, recognising them instantly.

"Good afternoon, Mr Valentine, sir " she cooed. "What can I do for you?"

Behind him, Vincent heard Linden mumbling something vaguely obscene, catching only the words "on your knees". He could just imagine the twin smirks on their faces. Excellent Turks, but their minds were permanently stuck in the proverbial gutter. Keeping his fingers crossed that the young lady in question hadn't heard the remark, he ignored his colleagues and continued to address the secretary.

"I'd like to see the President, please" he said calmly, moving a few stray locks of hair from his face.

She smiled again and reached for the phone, fluttering her eyelashes up at him. Only a select few were powerful enough within the company to request a personal audience with Shinra, and Vincent was one of them. "Certainly, if you'll hold on just one moment?" He acquiesced with a slight incline of his head, and turned round to lean against the desk while he waited. Eyes flickering briskly round the room (a habit formed after many years of being a Turk) they inevitably came to light upon his two colleagues, both wearing the looks of what can only be described as 'naughty schoolboys'.

Having caught his superiors' eye, Linden gave an exaggerated nod towards the pretty little secretary and made an overtly sexual gesture, mouthing the words "gagging for it". Vincent kept studiously silent, but gave a quick reprimanding scowl in reply. Deacon took up the bait and made encouraging hand motions along the lines of 'go get her', to the accompaniment of Lindens' less than subtle suggestions. Finding it increasingly more difficult to control their juvenile antics, Vincent tried directing furious glares at each of them. "Pack it in!" he hissed under his breath. "Quiet! The pair of you! Just…"

"Mr Valentine?"

Vincent, engrossed in telling off his two Turks, jumped at the sound of her voice, his head whipping round and somewhat startling the secretary. Thankfully she had not been witness to the charade going on at her desk and continued to smile at the group.

"The President is in a meeting with General Freeman at the moment, but if you go on up, I'm sure he'll see you at the same time."

"Thank you" replied Vincent, turning on his heel and heading for the nearest lift. Deacon fell in line behind him, but Linden lagged behind a moment, to flash a pearly white smile at the young lady and tip an imaginary hat. "Catch you later" he said, winking lewdly and hurrying off after the others.

oOo

Dr Lucrecia Crescent was one of the many people standing in the Reception area as the Turks walked in. Recently transferred from Mideel, she was in the middle of a conversation with her fellow scientist Christa Fallon, when the three men breezed into the room. She immediately noticed a hush descend for a few seconds as everyone looked and registered their arrival, before the noise picked up again. A little confused, she turned to Christa, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Who are they?" she enquired. "Why's everyone gawking at them?"

Christa looked surprised. "You mean you've never seen the Turks before?" she asked incredulously. A look of understanding suddenly passed over Lucrecia's face. "Ah, I'm guessing that expression means you've heard of them at least" the woman continued.

"Well they've never come to Mideel before" answered Lucrecia by way of explanation for her naiveté. "Or if they have then they've never popped into the Science department to say hello."

"Oh they'll have been to Mideel alright" Christa promised. "You just won't have seen them. They tend to keep to themselves, you know. Only appearing when they have to do their job." She gave a derogatory sniff. "Ha! Shinra's bully boys are all they are."

"Bully boys?"

Christa nodded sagely. "Without question" she answered distastefully. "Common street thugs and no more."

Lucrecia turned to look at the three men once more. Immaculate in their dark blue suits, she thought they seemed more like businessmen than street brawlers, even if she couldn't see them clearly from this distance. "They don't look like it" she protested. "They seem just like everyone else in here…"

"Don't let the sharp dressing fool you" warned Christa. "When you get right down to it, a Turk is an assassin, no matter what pretty clothes he wears. The President says shoot and they do it. Bully boys." She saw Lucrecia gazing at the three, just in time to catch one making a lewd gesture to another, behind the third ones' back. "_Immature_ bully boys" she amended. "Oh sure, they've got charm, so I'm told…" A second glance revealed two Turks sniggering. "Well, maybe some of them have, but you'd do best to keep clear of them." Christa dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "You ready to go now?"

Lucrecia shrugged indifferently. She'd heard all about the Turks. When she was little in Mideel, they had been the local equivalent of the boogeyman – "Go to bed or the Turks will come!" – but despite having worked in a Shinra base since she was sixteen, she had never before seen any of them. Of course, she rationalised, science wasn't exactly an area that involved much in the way of their particular line of work. She watched the three men leave, an undeniable swagger in their step, and walk into one of the new glass elevators. Shrugging again, she collected her paperwork. "OK, let's get out of here. Science awaits."

oOo

Vincent walked onto the Presidential floor, Deacon and Linden trailing behind him. A brief word with the assistant on duty confirmed that Shinra was in a meeting with the General of the armed forces.

Appropriate, he thought, considering the news be brought with him. He looked at his two Turks, both of whom seemed a little uncomfortable this close to the President. Vincent couldn't really blame them. He had been in awe of Shinra for years, until an unfortunate accident on the part of his superior had seen him promoted to the exalted position of leader of the Turks. Since then, he had to meet with the President on a more or less daily basis, and had overcome his initial awkwardness. Linden and Deacon still had a way to go however. Remembering how he used to feel, he ordered the pair to wait outside. "I'll talk to the President myself" he explained. "If he wants to hear your opinions, then I'll buzz you through." They smiled (did he detect a slight sense of relief in their expressions?) and sat themselves down in one of the comfy sofas nearby. Vincent himself straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket and flicked some hair out of his face before pushing open the main doors and walking into the Presidents' inner sanctum.

"Ah, Vincent" bellowed the President, as the Turk stepped in and closed the doors behind him. "Vincent, come in my boy." Inwardly cringing at the term "boy" (a nickname earned by being the youngest Turk ever to become their leader) he strode over to greet his employer.

"Sir" he said formally, and turned to acknowledge the rooms' other occupant, General Clifton Freeman. Snapping off a sharp salute and receiving a mirror copy from the seated man, he turned his attention back to Shinra. "I've completed the appraisal of Wutai as requested. You ordered me to report back immediately upon my return."

The President motioned towards a spare chair next to the General, which Vincent accepted without comment. "I did indeed" he said as Vincent sat down. "I'd received word from the helipad that you were back, so I took the liberty of calling this little get together." He leaned back in his own chair, the deep wine leather creaking as he did so. "So, what's your assessment then? Quick now. Out with it."

Vincent took a deep breath. "In a word, sir? Unstable. The Wutaians are… resistant… of any enterprise that threatens their more traditional way of living." He decided to choose his words carefully, fully aware of Shinras' volatile temperament. "The town elders refuse to enter into any form of negotiations. They say they have no need of power stations or disruptions to their heritage and I believe they would not take such an attempt in a peaceable fashion. I have gathered much information about their defensive capability. Wutai is known for its' line of Ninja fighters." He paused, waiting for a reaction, but Shinra let him continue. "They do however have sizeable amounts of raw Materia. They pride themselves on it, in fact. I was able to acquire one or two samples; I think you'll agree that they're of the highest quality." He pulled a small revolver from its holster at his side and carefully prised two glowing green orbs from the side. Replacing the gun, he offered the orbs to the President, who took them eagerly.

"Where did you find these?" Shinra demanded.

"Not all of the people of Wutai are as resistant as the elders" Vincent answered. "One or two of them were willing to deal. These particular specimens I obtained from a rogue trader."

Shinras' eyes lit up as he pushed the small Materia around in the palm of his hand. Looking up, he gave Vincent a hard stare. "These specimens? How many more do you have?"

Vincent smiled. "Enough to prove our case. And I believe that we have sufficient contacts now to arrange for the delivery of more."

Shinra chuckled. "Excellent." He tore his eyes of the Materia for a minute to stare at his prized Turk. "You're from Wutai yourself, aren't you?"

"No sir." Vincent gave a slight shake of his head. "I was born in Icicle Village. Although my mother was originally from Wutai."

Shinra noted this, and then carried on, as if there had been no digression. "Now, you mentioned some… resistance?"

"Some of the younger inhabitants mainly, as well as a few small splinter groups who disagree with the direction the ruling house is taking" replied the Turk. "I have noticed that those who voice their displeasure with the elders' edicts are often…let's say, inspired to visit other continents."

"You mean they kick 'em out at the first sign of trouble?"

"Essentially correct"

President Shinra nodded. "About what I was expecting" he said gruffly. "They won't give in to progress without a fight." He turned to the General, who had remained silent up to this point. "What do you think, Freeman?"

General Freeman cleared his throat. "Well… If what Valentine here has told us is correct, then it'll come to a stand-off regardless. Of course, we should easily outnumber them; the important thing is that they aren't able to close off the Materia supply before we can get to it. And once we have, that they don't get any of it back." He looked at the Turk. "I'm assuming you've brought some figures back with you? Maps, plans, that kind of thing?"

"Of course."

"Excellent" interrupted Shinra. "Good work. I want a plan of action drawn up by the end of the week. We'll keep with the softly softly approach for the moment, then hit 'em hard if they haven't fallen in line. It'll be a good chance to test out some of the Weapons Departments' latest prototypes, if nothing else." He leaned over his desk and picked up a cigar. Lighting it, he began to puff away contentedly. "Ahhh" he sighed. "Marvellous." He pushed the two Materia back towards Vincent. "Take these down to the labs. I want them analysed." Grinning, he blew a smoke ring high into the air. "Wutai will be mine by the end of the year."

_A/N: __Just a quick one. There's generally a reasonably large time jump between chapters. So events in one don't always immediately precede events in the next._


	3. Chapter 3

There was probably no greater authority on Mako in the world than Professor Gast Faremis. Entering the scientific community just as Mako was beginning to arouse interest, he had eagerly seized the opportunity to learn more about this new source of energy. During this time, he had watched Shinra Electric grow from a small, insignificant company reliant on fossil fuels, to one that encompassed the globe (or at least most of it), tapping into a seemingly inexhaustible supply of raw power. Under his guidance, the Science department had blossomed, in many ways steering the direction of the whole company. Now, with Shinra branching out and becoming a major player in a variety of industries, their studies had also broadened. But still, Mako remained his lifelong fascination.

Gasts' current project was investigating the effects of Mako exposure to Shinra workers. Reports of erratic and bizarre behaviour had filtered in from some of the reactor crews, so a team had been assembles to study the anomaly.

"Fascinating…"

Gast ran his finger down a column of figures on his notes, double checking his calculations. Finding everything to be in order, he looked back at his specimens. At first glance, they appeared to be no different to the various other lab mice dotted around the floor. A little perkier perhaps, more active, but otherwise the same. Closer inspection however, revealed a very slight glow to their pink eyes, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye.

Opening the cage door, he reached inside and gently picked up one of the mice, holding it up on the palm of his hand. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. There was a definite change to the animal.

"Most curious." He set the creature down in a purpose built maze next to the cage, watching as the mouse made short work of the puzzle. Scribbling furiously, Gast repeated the small test, continuing to add to his already lengthy notes.

He was still like this when Vincent walked in, fifteen minutes later. Seeing the man bent over the table, switching his gaze between the paper and the mice, his attention was completely on his work and never noticed the Turk enter the room. Realising that Gast was engrossed in the experiment, Vincent gave a polite cough to draw his attention. "Ahem… Professor? Professor Gast?"

The scientist looked up with a start, clearly surprised at the sudden interruption. Upon seeing who his visitor was though, his face creased into a warm smile. "Ah, Mr Valentine" he said cheerfully. "Good of you to drop by. Come over here, look at these little fellas."

Vincent returned the smile and walked over to join him, genuinely pleased to see the Professor. The two were friends of a sort, although theirs was as unlikely a friendship as could be imagined. Gast had occasionally lectured at the same University that Vincent had attended as a student and although Vincent studied Engineering, he had heard a lot about the scientist at his years there, even sneaking into a few of Gasts' presentations. Once graduated, he came to work for Shinra, and had immediately approached the affable older man. For his part, Gast had found the young Turk to be in possession of a keen mind and sharp wit, who seemed to enjoy discussion, even if some of it was a little out of his league. Since his rank gave him access to the entire building, Vincent had been quick to discover the vast library housed inside the Headquarters, and spent a lot of his spare time there. He was also free to wander the Science floors and catch up with the Professor.

Reaching the table, he saw that the Professor has a selection of mice running through mazes. Raising an eyebrow he enquired as to their purpose. "What have you got going on here, Professor?"

Gast smiled once more. "Ah, Mako of course!" Vincent nodded – of course it would be something along those lines. "I've been testing how it affects them. Mild Mako exposure. Look at this chap…" He picked up the nearest mouse and held it out for inspection. "This is Bob."

Vincent looked warily down at the rodent. "Er… Hello Bob?" he replied, unsure of what was expected of him at this point.

"No, no, no… Look at the eyes" Gast said by way of explanation.

Leaning forward, Vincent peered closely at the mouse, and quickly noticed the strange pink glow. His own eyes widened in surprise as he straightened up. "Please tell me that isn't X-Ray vision" he said dryly. "Because if that little guy's eyes start shooting lasers then I'm out of here."

Gast sighed in mock exasperation. "Not X-Ray vision" he clarified, "it's Mako poisoning. No… Not quite that either really. It's what you might call very mild Mako poisoning. Not so much as to be hazardous, but enough to send the DNA into flux." He deposited the mouse back into its' cage. "Somehow the Mako enhances the senses. If it's not given in too high a dosage of course."

"To what end?"

"Ah, now there's the question." The Professor scratched his chin as he pondered. "Eventually? I suspect that, given the proper tests and trials, the same could be applied to humans. We've got a long way to go before that though. One of my compatriots in Junon has written a paper on it. Quite remarkable theories he has on the subject."

Vincent nodded again, reminding himself that this particular visit was supposed to be for business purposes, rather than pleasure. "Actually Professor" he began, "there was another reason for my coming to see you."

"What's that then?"

Pulling a small leather drawstring pouch from his jacket pocket, Vincent placed it on the desk in front of Gast. "Open it."

Carefully, the Professor opened the strings and peered inside. Immediately his eyes lit up with a glow almost to rival Bobs'. "Materia!" Eagerly he emptied the contents onto his hand. "Where did you get these? They look remarkable… Such quality! Pure crystallised Mako!"

"I found them in Wutai" explained Vincent simply, somewhat skirting round the finer details of the excursion. He was always a little uncomfortable discussing his job, preferring to gloss over some of the more… unpleasant elements. Obviously Gast was fully aware of what Vincent did for a living - there were few who were not - but he paid it little mind. He never probed for more information, just accepted what the Turk said at face value. Besides, an interest in science cancelled out a lot in his estimation. "The President has asked that you examine them. Ideally he'd like to know whether the Wutai Reactor plan is worth pursuing."

"Naturally" Gast replied. "I'll set up the appropriate teams immediately."

"Teams? What teams?"

A new voice intruded upon the conversation, one that managed to fill those three words with an incredible amount of venom. Turning his head to locate the source of the sound, Vincents' gaze fell upon a man standing in a doorway, evidently another scientist if the white lab coat was anything to go by. He noticed a slightly pained expression pass across Gasts' face, and it didn't take a Turks' training to figure out that there were unspoken issues lurking in the background here.

The Professor gestured towards the new arrival. "Mr Valentine, meet Doctor Hojo, another member of my department. Hojo, this is Vincent Valentine, of the Turks."

The newly identified Hojo walked forward, and Vincent was able to get a full measure of the man. He was a little on the short side, at least compared with the six foot Turk. Lank black hair was slicked back into a ponytail, giving his face a rather stretched look. He wore glasses perched precariously on the end of his aquiline nose, whether they were there by accident or design Vincent was not sure. Overall his expression was drawn into a slight sneer and despite being several inches the shorter, he seemed to be trying to look down at everyone else in the room. Still manners cost nothing, so Vincent extended his hand to shake. "Doctor Hojo."

Hojo gave the outstretched hand a glare, then turned this onto the other man. After an appropriately uncomfortable pause, he eventually returned the gesture to shake hands briefly, muttering a derogatory "Turk" in Vincents' rough direction. Immediately dismissing him as unimportant, Hojo turned his attention to Professor Gast. "So what teams were you discussing?" he enquired sharply. "As Senior Laboratory Manager, it is my job to…"

Gast made placating motions with his hands. "Yes, yes, I know" he answered in a tone that showed he had clearly heard all this before. "I was pointing out the need to establish some groups to look into this new cache of Materia Mr Valentine has located. They're quite remarkable specimens really."

"I see." Obviously he could find nothing overly wrong with the argument. Still completely ignoring Vincent, he reached over to pluck up one of the Materia orbs and inspect it. His face crinkled up even more as he searched every inch of the crystal for potential flaws. "Hmmm, not the best example I've seen… Scratched in places, not completely pure… Still, I suppose better we take them than the Turks, at least we know what we're doing." With that he gave the barest of nods to his superior before sweeping towards the exit as if Vincent didn't even exist.

Just before he could reach the door, Gast pulled him up short. "Hojo!" he called. "Remember this is my lab, not yours. You may be in charge of the roster, but I pay your wages."

Hojos' eyes bulged, his face a contrast - stormy with anger yet mortified he had been singled out in front of someone else. For a second he opened his mouth, on the verge of spitting back a vicious retort, but he managed to exert some self-control and snapped it shut before leaving and slamming the door behind him.

Vincent watched the Doctor leave with a slightly bemused expression on his face. Gast noticed and gave a wry smile. "That concludes your first introduction to the phenomenon that is Hojo" he deadpanned. "A competent scientist with some good insight, but that doesn't mean I have to like him."

The Turk couldn't help but smile back. "We can't choose our colleagues" he said.

"Indeed we cannot" Gast agreed. "Anyway, I'll get right on those samples. Whatever Hojo says, I'll have a team organised within a few days and hard at work."

"That would be most helpful" replied Vincent. "Now if you'll excuse me?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you. Nice talking to you again Mr Valentine." Gast waved as Vincent walked towards the elevator. "You should get some answers by the end of next week."

oOo

"The man is an ass."

Vincent had returned to the Turks Lounge after his visit to the Science Department. Because of their unique talents and services, the Turks were afforded their own floor in the building, complete with all the facilities they could possibly desire. Armoury, weapons range, fitness suite and relaxation area, all decked out with the latest in creature comforts. It generally paid to keep them pleased – a happy Turk carried out his job well, and the better equipped he was to do that job then the better it all worked out for the company. The Lounge was a spacious area full of couches, complete with its own mini bar. Vincent had walked in to find Linden sitting down in one of the chairs, smoking yet another cigarette and reading a daily paper. Out of curiosity, he had enquired about Hojo, and received a damning response.

"A complete and total pompous ass" repeated Linden. "I swear I just met the man for ten minutes, but it didn't even take that long for me to hate his guts."

Falling into a nearby couch, Vincent sighed as he slumped back and relaxed. "I can claim the record then. It only took me three minutes." He sat forward enough to pull off his jacket and throw it onto the neighbouring chair before slouching again. Removing the jacket revealed twin holsters strapped round his chest, each holding an exquisitely crafted handgun. He took one out and began pulling it to pieces, checking each part individually while Linden continued his commentary.

"All I had to do was escort him and some other egg heads to this convention thing somewhere in Junon. Don't even know why I was there, since it was hardly like anyone was gonna top anyone this boring, but it was orders, so I do it. Said about ten words to me the whole time, and they were all 'do this, do that' commands. Rest of the time, zip. Nothing. You know, it's amazing he isn't lopsided, he's got such a chip on his shoulder. He had the biggest attitude problem I have ever seen in my life, he's got like, this _look_ that he puts on you, as if you're something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe and he was rude to just about everyone on the whole trip."

Vincent looked up idly from his dismantling. "You done?"

"No. He was also greasy." Linden snorted loudly. "Like I said, an ass. If he's not careful then he's gonna come down with a major case of death, you know what I'm saying?"

"Hooligan."

The junior Turk shrugged indifferently. "So sue me. Heh, if you're not careful you'll turn into one of them. All that time you spend in there talking to the boffins."

"Professor Gast is a very interesting man, you should try it sometime."

"Nah, not for me. I'll leave all that to you, Mr University Education. Me, I'm plannin' to hit the bar. You coming?"

Vincent looked down at the multitude of gun parts now lying in front of him. "You know" he said, "after that little encounter, I do. Just let me get dressed." He swiftly pulled the other revolver out of its' holster and put it next to the scattered pieces. Getting up, he walked over to a wall cabinet, which he opened. Surveying the contents, he took out two more polished firearms, examined them and dropped them into the holsters. "Alright" he said heading for the door and collecting his jacket en route. "I'm ready."

_A/N: I wrote this way before Advent Children was released, but somehow I wasn't surprised when it turned out the ex-Turk was the one __explaining Geostigma and Jenova. I think Vincent must have at the very least a passing interest in more bookish studies. Is there anything he can't do?_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Chapter 4 comes with a completely new first section, as the original description of the hit just didn't do it for me. This should be a bit more of an insight._

oOo

The view over the city from the top of the Terminus Apartment building was spectacular. Nestled proudly between Sector Fives' railway station and hectic business district, its mass of quicksilver windows and shining steel bore testament to the growing prosperity of Midgar. Those fortunate enough to live in the upper floors were able to look out over the sprawling metropolis, with its built-up areas bisected by lush green parks, all leading to the towering hub that was the headquarters of Shinra Electric Power Company. It was getting on for early evening, and people were beginning to stream out onto the streets after a hard days' work, talking, laughing, living.

Vincent didn't see any of it.

He'd been lying prone on the roof for hours, just waiting. Hard concrete wasn't exactly the most luxurious surface on which to pass an afternoon, but for a Turk sharpshooter, comfort didn't enter into the equation. So he simply ignored any protests his body had made until they slunk off in defeat, though these days they didn't put up much of a fight – he'd done enough of these assignments now that it was almost second nature.

Instead, all his attention was focused on a point over half a mile away. Through the targeting reticule of his rifle, he could see with perfect clarity the street in front of one of the business district buildings. Already a throng of employees were bustling in and out of the main doors, some changing shifts, others eager to get home to family. Stock resting on a sandbag for stability, he kept his gaze fixed on the entrance, unwavering. Next to him, a black briefcase lay opened but empty, holes inside a foam shell being the only clue as to what it had contained.

From this height, the excited buzzing of a packed city was muted down to a background hum. Otherwise, all was quiet. Occasionally Vincent used one of the other Turks as a spotter, but only for the kind of shots that were pushing the very limits of his range and ability. None of them really had the temperament for the extended periods of inactivity these jobs entailed. Linden in particular, whilst having an excellent eye for calculating distance and lead times for moving targets, unfortunately came with an extremely low boredom threshold. The one and only time he'd been called upon to perform spotting duty, Vincent had wanted to throttle him after half an hour. After two, he was considering using the rifle on his colleague, and by three he would have happily turned it on himself had he been able.

This was a comparatively simple job for him, though sitting at a range of around 1000 yards there weren't very many men in the world who'd call it that. Vincent had therefore opted to go it alone; the solitude wasn't something that bothered him, and patience was something he possessed in spades.

The bolt-action rifle only contained a single bullet. He disliked using more than one per target – he subscribed to the theorem "one shot, one kill". Not to mention multiple shots increased the likelihood of someone locating his position and returning fire, and on these occasions he had no desire to be found. To this end, the gun was custom made by Shinra's Weapons Department and calibrated for his own personal use. Combined with the extensive training he'd received upon joining the elite group, he couldn't recall a time when he'd ever needed a second bullet. Each Turk tended to have an area of expertise that they excelled in; there was a very good reason why assassination was Vincent's forte.

Somewhere nearby, a clock struck the hour. Vincent's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, homing in on that one specific point. It was time. People by nature are creatures of habit, they have set routines that they unconsciously stick to. Ready to be exploited. He willed himself to absolute stillness.

_Thump._

The entrance doors gaped open again, and spat out a tall, stocky man, dressed in an expensive pinstriped suit and an air of self-importance, talking animatedly on a PHS. Around him milled numerous lackeys, carrying a briefcases or clutching bundles of paper. And still the flow of workers continued unabated on the pavement, jostling past in the evening rush.

_Thump._

The arrival had good cause to look exude such confidence. He was a major player in Midgar, with strong enough business acumen to rival Shinra himself; a fact not unnoticed by several key figures in the city. A family man, trading off a skilfully polished image, he'd risen to new heights over recent months. Ugly rumours of industrial espionage abound, but that gleaming public face had so far managed to stay unblemished. Not that Vincent cared one way or the other. The sharpshooter was simply the weapon used to complete a task, he didn't decide the target or debate the morality of the action.

_Thump._

A good sniper took his shot between breaths. The best took it between heartbeats. For a while when he was younger, he'd used anti-anxiety pills to slow his heart rate down during missions. He didn't need to any more, instead it was as if for a few brief seconds the entire world slowed down around him, everyone moving through treacle.

_Thump._

Range, wind speed, direction, temperature, air pressure, movement of the target – it all flashed through his brain as a matter of reflex. He could think about them now without thinking about them, gauging and weighing up all the factors in the blink of an eye.

The businessman laughed as he spoke into his phone.

_Thump._

The pad of Vincent's finger caressed the trigger.

_Thump._

_**Crack.**_

_Thump._

A fountain of red blossomed from the mans' forehead. The street erupted in shouts and screams, audible from even the apartment block roof, as the mass of humanity scattered to the four winds.

And Vincent felt nothing.

oOo

He awoke with a start. Silence. And darkness. All he could hear was his own slightly laboured breathing. Taking a few moments to adjust while his brain kicked into gear, he realised that he had been dreaming. Looking over at his alarm clock, he noted with a sinking feeling that it was just past three in the morning.

"Damnit."

Rubbing his eyes he flopped back onto the pillow and stared blankly at the ceiling. This hadn't happened for a while. It had been a long time since one of his assignments had come back to him at night, he'd thought he was over that hurdle.

Contrary to what the general populace believed, the Turks were not totally unaffected by the sometimes violent nature of their work. Naturally the men recruited to the job were of a certain disposition to begin with – not violently psychopathic as some would have expected, but strong enough to be able to do what needed to be done in difficult circumstances. Intellect was a prerequisite as their tasks ranged from intelligence gathering to analysing tactical situations to hostage negotiation. But it couldn't be denied that they were also trained to be superb fighters, able to kill.

When he had first started in the Turks and effectively handed the role of marksman, Vincent had found himself haunted by the faces of the people had been ordered to eliminate, initially unable to come to terms with the more ruthless elements of his chosen career. The then leader of the Turks had immediately noticed the problems his bright young protégé was experiencing and took him aside.

"Look son, I know it's difficult. Lord knows we've all gone through it. It's not pretty, we're not some messengers of divine retribution. You have to face up to it, we do what we do and that's that. The secret is how you deal with it."

And it was. Vincent noticed that each Turk had his own way of subjugating the feelings. Linden drowned his in drink, dulling the pain with alcohol and women. Deacon, most surprisingly, found solace in religion, being one of the most devout men Vincent had ever encountered.

"You find your own way… And you deal with it."

He had. He took all the guilt, the anger, the fear… And ignored them. After a particularly difficult hit, it had suddenly occurred to him. It was simply down to discipline. Already one of the most important factors in his life, he just applied it to his feelings as well. He wrapped them up into a tight little package and shoved them away at the back of his head. It was his job and he would do it. End of story.

Almost.

After a good fifteen minutes of lying there, he eventually realised he wasn't going to crash out again anytime soon. He'd spent the past few days on surveillance which played havoc with his sleep pattern at the best of times, so he stood little chance now. Sighing, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. His raven hair flopped forward into his eyes and he ran a hand through it to shake out some of the tangles. There was a slight chill in the air, and since all he was wearing was a pair of boxers, he pulled on an old shirt to keep warm. Padding over to the kitchen, he switched on the coffee machine for a much needed quick caffeine injection. If he was going to be awake at 3am, then at least he would be awake with a black and one sugar.

Despite earning a salary large enough to buy any of the houses in Midgar he chose, Vincent preferred living in this apartment. In fact, the position of leader of the Turks automatically came with a deluxe residence in the city courtesy of the President, but he hadn't felt the need to move in. Instead, he had opted to stay in his apartment in Sector Three's upper plate. It was a fairly basic layout, with only two proper rooms. The bathroom was tucked away to the rear of the flat, while the rest was a combination of living space, sleeping area and kitchen. Open plan, he'd heard the estate agent say. Whatever. It suited his needs perfectly. He'd fitted the interior out exactly as he wanted it, almost meticulous in detail. Bookshelves lined one wall, with a collection that Deacon joked would rival Shinra's own vast library. It had all the mod cons, TV, stereo, computers. There wasn't much of a 'lived in' feel to it; you also got the impression that the owner wasn't always in very much. That was true, Vincent spent more time either out on missions in different cities or inside the HQ than he did here. Whenever he was here it was usually only for short periods of time, and then he was generally in a hurry to get somewhere else. The almost obsessive neatness spoke volumes about its occupant.

It was the polar opposite to Lindens' place; he had a long way to go before getting to that, a fact for which he was profoundly grateful. Linden was a man for whom the term 'housekeeping' was a complete mystery. Vincent had once reckoned that a cure for all the worlds' illnesses could be found at the bottom of the laundry basket, if not new forms of life. Being the eternal bachelor, Linden kept his own apartment in a state of perpetual chaos. The only time it saw anything so much as resembling a cleaning utensil was when one of his female conquests had finally had enough and blitzed the entire warzone. Needless to say, Linden had yet to find a woman with whom he could have a relationship that lasted more than a fortnight. Not that the fact bothered him in the slightest for, in his own words "women come, women go, but as long as I get laid, I don't care."

Vincent poked his fingers between the slats in the kitchen blind and peered through the gap at the city below, while the coffee maker glooped and gurgled in the background. Even at this late (or maybe that should be early) hour, the sprawling metropolis of Midgar was never silent. People still wandered the streets; a few drunks staggering from a bar, couples walking home. Cars zipped past them all, and the lights of the commercial areas shone colourful neon into the night sky. He sighed, his breath forming condensation on the cold window. So many people, all running round in pursuit of… what? Curiously they put him in mind of Professor Gasts' mice, scurrying through mazes in the hope of a reward. Was he like them?

The machine gave a high pitched ping sound to announce his drink was ready. He snorted to himself and moved away from the window, marvelling at how philosophical a man can get at three in the morning after only a couple of hours sleep. He picked up the percolated coffee and poured himself a mug before moving over to the sofa and sitting down.

_All rats in somebodys' maze_, he thought to himself. _Rats in a bloody maze_.


	5. Chapter 5

"So what happened?"

Vincent was standing in a hospital corridor, livid. Normally a reasonably calm man, his nerves had been stretched taut by tonight's' events, and watching Linden, his arm in a sling, pacing up and down was doing nothing to soothe his rapidly worsening temper. The other Turk stopped his pacing for a minute to stare daggers at his superior.

"What happened? It was a fucking set up, that's what happened!" He jammed his un-damaged hand into his trouser pocket and resumed his furious pacing. "This op was planned to perfection, the date, the time, everything! We didn't do anything wrong!"

"Not good enough" Vincent snapped. "I want to know why I've got one Turk with a broken arm and another in there practically bleeding to death!" He gestured towards a door opposite. Linden followed the movement, and for a moment a brief look of pain flashed across his face. Almost too quick to be noticed, but Vincent's' sharp eyes saw. And he understood.

Linden let out a loud sigh and leaned against the wall. He awkwardly lit himself a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "We knew he was going to make the drop tonight. Anonymous tip, but we tracked it to the source." Vincent nodded impatiently. Of course they would, this was standard procedure and his Turks were well trained. "Turned out to be an old friend of ours, Mak Xu." He held up his hands to forestall any forthcoming protests. "Yeah yeah, I know his record. Treacherous bastard. We figured he'd try to cross us, so we took a few liberties with his person, shook him up a bit."

"I trust Xu as far as I can throw him" Vincent interjected. "That lowlife shit is loyal just to the gil in his pocket and his own miserable hide."

Linden allowed himself a quick snigger. "That 'miserable hide' is now residing in a dumpster across town and loyal only to Deacons' big dude in the sky" he answered. "We cut a deal with Xu, or so he thought, not that we gave him much of a choice. Then we left, Deac doubled back and put the bugger out of his misery." Another smile crossed his features for a second. "That was a sweet moment. But anyway, yeah, we traced down the others involved with the drop. All checked out. Right names, right guys, they had the target…" He took another draw on the cigarette before continuing. "Didn't leave any stone unturned, you know?"

The leader of the Turks nodded again, trying to calm down a little. "I know. You're good Turks, you wouldn't have done anything completely stupid. You may be a womanising, arrogant little son of a bitch, but I trust you."

Linden smirked. "Whoa, careful boss, that was almost a compliment. Looks like you could be getting a sense of humour there."

"Now is not the time" Vincent replied, unmoved by the attempt at brevity. "Go on."

Another sigh. "You know the rest. We arrived a couple of hours before the drop was meant to be made and scouted round to double check. Waited for them to turn up. First guy gets there, sits on the bench as expected. Ten minutes later, the second guy shows. They make the exchange, we've got the proof we need. We're about to move, when the next thing we know, we're getting shot at from all angles. I dunno where they came from, but they were all over us. Did the best we could, but got ambushed by a handful of goons at the end of the street. Didn't go down without a fight, which is how I got this." He held up his plastered arm. "Deacon wasn't so lucky. He nailed two of 'em before they stuck a bullet through him. Then this big black saloon pulled up and the whole lot legged it into the night. That's when I called you and here we are."

"Here we are indeed." Vincent scowled, angry once again. "I'm not happy about this…" He was broken off mid sentence by a white coated doctor stepping out of the opposite door. The man immediately noticed the two Turks, and stepped straight over to Vincent. "Well?"

The doctor coughed slightly, more than a little intimidated by having the leader of the Turks towering over him. "Um… Well, Mr Jeffers suffered a severe bullet wound to the chest…"

"Of course he did!" barked Vincent. "He was shot with a fucking gun! Now tell me how he is!"

Shrinking back, the doctor decided to skip the medical jargon and cut to the chase. "He'll… he'll be fine!" he blurted quickly. "We've managed to extract the bullet and close the wound. He'll be on his feet in a week or so."

Vincents' hackles lowered a little, mollified by the welcome news. "A week? He's going to be alright?"

"Yes… After all, this is Midgar, we're used to dealing with gunshot wounds." In spite of the looming suits around him, the good doctors' voice had a definite 'tone' about it.

Sadly that was probably true, reflected Vincent. And he didn't even want to speculate on how many of the injuries that came through the hospital were because someone had irritated one of his own men. He watched the doctor retreat down the corridor, before turning to Linden. "I'm not happy about this" he repeated. "I've had two Turks hit and I don't know why. I am now in the mood for some creative revenge."

Linden saw a deadly look begin to glimmer in his superiors' eyes. If that look had been directed at him, then he would have wilted. "Creative revenge, boss?"

"Who was in charge of the drop?"

"Elton Sullivan."

"Then let us just say that Mr Sullivan has just forfeited any chance he had of fathering children."

Linden couldn't help but feel a flash of sympathy for the man. But not much. Sullivan's' henchmen had broken his arm and put a sliver of lead through his best buddy. As far as he was concerned, he deserved everything he had coming.

"Go home" Vincent instructed in a voice that brooked no argument. "Go home and rest. If Deacons' going to be out for a while then I need you back to health as soon as possible. I'm also going to have to recall Preston from Wutai to cover…" He started running through in his head all the things he was going to have to arrange. "Anyway, just get out of here. I expect to see you in my office on Thursday, 9am. Now scoot."

Grateful, Linden mooched away and out of the building, leaving Vincent standing in the corridor. He was not in a good mood. He was fed up, he was tired, and now he was going to have to go and sort out Elton Sullivan. The Turks as a whole just couldn't ignore a jibe like this. If they let it go then people might take it as a sign they were getting soft. Their whole purpose revolved around the fact that they would not stand for any disrespect and that there was always a price for stepping out of line. If people started thinking they could get away with this kind of stunt…

Vincent picked up his jacket and strode out into the night.

oOo

_Three years previously_

"Gentlemen." Shinra looked at the line of three Turks in front of him. Each standing to attention, dressed in identical blue suits, eyes fixed on a point a few inches above the Presidents' head. "I've called you all here to tell you that there has been an accident. Forlan Grisham was killed last night on assignment in Junon."

Collectively, the gathered Turks all drew sharp intakes of breath. This was not what they had expected at all. Grisham was practically untouchable; the leader of the Turks would not be an easy person to dispose of. They all held their ground though. Being a Turk carried with it a shortened life expectancy, and they were all trained to accept this fact. They knew it could be any one of them next. Not many Turks survived long in this business, but Grisham had lasted longer than most.

"The details will be made clear to you in the next few days" the President continued, "and appropriate action will be taken, to be determined by Grishams' replacement." At this, three pairs of ears perked up, despite the somewhat morbid circumstances; leader of the Turks was a coveted position. "The instructions left by your predecessor indicate that as of now, this… vacancy… will be filled by Vincent Valentine."

In spite of all his training and discipline, Vincent couldn't help but gasp, surprised. _Him?_ But he was the youngest, surely the honour should have gone to Osborn, the most experienced of the group? He was about to protest, but never got the chance.

"Congratulations Valentine. You now have thirty minutes to issue your orders to your fellows before you will report back to me with a plan for action. Dismissed."

The three men filed out of the office, all mildly shell shocked. None more so than their new leader. Only twenty three years of age, Vincent had been a Turk for two years working under Grisham, his mentor; the man who had plucked him from University to a prime position in the elite unit. Said he had the makings of one of the best Turks ever.

"Well... _Fuck_."

Although maybe he still had a few rough edges.

Once the door behind them was closed, Osborn and Preston, the other two Turks, turned round to him. Vincent was expecting anger, especially from the former, and was surprised not to find it in their faces. Still, a Turk was trained not to show emotion, they could just be hiding it…

"Well done, man" offered Preston, a tall wiry man who offered his hand to the younger Turk. "Grisham made a good choice."

Vincent automatically took the outstretched hand and shook it mechanically. "But…"

"Don't argue" interrupted Osborn. "Whoever Grisham chose, you can be damn sure he had his reasons for it. We all respected him, and we respect his decision now. Just make sure you live up to it." The two men smiled before straightening themselves up formally. "Now sir, what are your orders?"

oOo

"So you see, I'm not particularly happy with you at the moment, Mr Sullivan."

Elton Sullivan was in no fit state to dispute this fact. Stripped of his dashing pinstripe suit, he was securely tied, hands and feet bound behind his back, kneeling on the floor while the Turk paced round him. His tie, a very expensive silk one from far away Wutai, was expertly converted into use as a gag, effectively keeping him silent, apart from the odd muffled groan and shriek. Vincent continued to walk around the room, talking. He held no visible weapon, although the prostrate man on the floor was sure he wouldn't have come unarmed. And quite frankly, considering the damage that had been wrought so far without any mechanical assistance, Sullivan was worried what could happen should a weapon suddenly appear.

"You know where I've spent the last four hours?" the Turk enquired. Sullivan shook his head vigorously. No, he did not know. "I've spent them in Midgars' hospital. And do you know why I have spent them in Midgars' hospital?" More rapid shaking. "I spent them there because your hired guns put a bullet through one of my men." Vincent stopped walking round the kneeling man, coming to a halt in front of him. He crouched down, putting his face level with the cowering prisoner. Sullivan looked up at the Turk and did not like what he saw.

Sullivan considered himself to be a hardened man, one who made his own rules. Owner of a successful weapons factory, he had plenty of power, contacts and money. He was also a liar, a cheat and a fraud, and a successful one at that. He ran a ring of dealers, and when the need has arisen, he had acted forcefully. Terminally, on occasions. But looking into the eyes of the Turk, he felt truly afraid. There was no rage in those crystalline brown eyes. No madness or anger. Just pure, clear sanity and the promise that someone was going to be in for a very unpleasant night.

"I don't like it when people think they can pull this sort of job against my Turks" Vincent said softly. "It makes me very angry. It means that I have to waste my time teaching you a lesson." His captive tried to indicate that really, Vincent didn't have to waste his precious time with him. "What's that? I can't understand you…" Sullivan struggled madly at his bonds, but they were too well tied. "I want to know why you ordered the hit" Vincent said, standing up and walking over to Sullivan's' desk, where he perched on the edge. "Talk to me, Sullivan."

The restrained man shuffled forward on his knees, trying to speak behind the gag. All that emerged were strangled sounds, nothing coherent. Vincent shook his head sadly.

"You're not being very helpful tonight." He slowly and deliberately reached inside his jacket, pulling out one of his guns. Making a large show of turning off the safety, he looked once more down at the man on the floor. "I'll repeat my question" he said calmly. "Why did you order the hit?"

Sullivan's eyes bulged in fear, sweat dripping down his face. "Mmphf!" he shrieked, but the gag held firmly in place, and his attempts were still muffled. Frantically trying to make himself understood, Vincent watched placidly as the man humiliated himself, throwing his body against the floor and pleading wretchedly.

After a suitable amount of time had elapsed, Vincent raised an eyebrow. "No?" He shrugged, and seemingly without looking or bothering to aim, raised the gun and shot off one of Sullivan's kneecaps. Thankfully the man's cries of pain were subdued by the gag, but he rolled over on the carpet, obviously in agony and leaking vital fluids all over his floor. "I don't have time for this" Vincent said sternly. "I want your co-operation and I want it now. I've already wasted enough time with you." A second shot rang out, shattering the prone man's other knee. He watched the poor victim struggle helplessly for a few moments, before hopping off the desk and bending down to untie the gag. As soon as he did so, Sullivan exploded into a series of groans and whines. Vincent grabbed hold of the mans' chin with one hand, forcing him to look up, while the other directed the gun at a yet un-injured part of his anatomy. "Shut up. Give me names or the next bullet goes into your balls."

Faced with such grim determination, Sullivan gave in to the only option available, and spilled his guts. Vincent listened patiently as the man grovelled and crawled, citing several people known to be enemies of the Shinra Corporation, as well as some new names which the Turk immediately committed to memory.

Once done, Sullivan collapsed on his back weeping, clearly exhausted. Vincent, unruffled by the scene in front of him, stood up and walked toward the door. There was a form of poetic justice at work here he thought, since he was about to send more work the way of the harassed Midgar doctors. Just before he left the room, he turned to regard the oozing shell behind him. "You've inconvenienced me, Sullivan" he said. "If that ever happens again, I'll be paying you another visit. And so you don't forget this valuable piece of information, I have something to make sure you remember…"

The third and final bullet fulfilled Vincent's promise of 'creative revenge', sending Elton Sullivan curling into a screaming, pathetic foetal ball.


	6. Chapter 6

The Turks floor was strangely empty. Vincent wandered round, and picked up a newspaper. Under normal circumstances he would have welcomed the peace and quiet, but now it just served to remind him that he had two Turks out of action; one recuperating at home the other hospitalised. He'd contacted Preston Drake, the fourth member of the group, first thing that morning. Preston had been on an information gathering assignment in Wutai for a month and Vincent was loathe to take him out of it, but what with Linden and Deacon injured, there was no option but to recall him for the time being.

After a few minutes, he decided that he needed the company of people, and preferably ones that weren't about to shoot at him. What with one thing and another, he was feeling understandably jumpy of late. He shucked off his jacket and undid his tie; the damn thing was feeling more like a noose at the moment, and he wasn't in the mood for playing Turk right now. Taking his paper with him, he left the Turks Lounge and caught an elevator down to the 30th floor. Walking out past a couple of soldiers who recognised him in spite of his less formal attire and gave smart salutes, he headed for the main employees' lounge.

Less elaborate than that afforded to the Turks, the lounge was still a pleasant place to relax, with a small diner in one corner, serving hot drinks and snacks. Vincent felt the lure of coffee pulling at him, and made a beeline for the counter. Collecting his usual from the smiling attendant who point blank refused to let him pay, he took his drink to a small table to one side and began to read his paper.

oOo

Lucrecia was feeling peckish. She'd spent several hours in the lab working on some new research and had forgotten to take a break. It was now several hours later than she had originally planned to eat, and she was dying for a snack. The employees lounge was not far away, and already the tasty aromas of cooked food were wafting down the corridor.

Inside, the place was filling up fast and the majority of the tables were occupied. She walked over to the food counter and picked herself out some pastries. To hell with it, she'd earned them. Paying the cashier, she moved away from the till and searched for a spare seat. This was not going to be easy – all of the tables were in use and many were full up. Scanning the room, she noticed one table on the far side that only had one person sitting there, reading a newspaper. Idly she wondered why other tables were crammed yet this remained mainly empty, but didn't waste too much time doing so. Hurriedly, she made her way over to the table, weaving her way through the mass of people with her tray.

"Excuse me" she asked the occupant politely, "but do you mind if I sit here?"

The man behind the paper didn't so much as look up. "Sure" he answered, continuing with his reading. Lucrecia offered her thanks, before slipping into the vacant seat and starting on her first pastry. Whoever Shinra employed to man the diner sure could cook. Relaxing into her seat a little, she idly began reviewing the front page of the newspaper, whilst munching on her meal. The headline story was standard fare for the past few weeks, more anti-Wutai propaganda. Apparently some dissenters on the continent had appropriated a few weapons and staged a terrorist attack on a small Shinra holding. Several people were injured in the attack, and needless to say, the Electric Company were taking the matter very personally.

"That's terrible…" she murmured, as she read some of the more detailed points of the article. The corner of the paper suddenly flicked down, and she found herself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes, slightly slanted at the corners with surprisingly thick lashes. They were set into a finely crafted face; a pale ivory complexion that stood out against inky black hair. You couldn't really apply the term 'beautiful' to a man, but that was the closest word she could think of at the time.

"Miss? Are you alright?"

It suddenly occurred to her that while she had been off in a world of her own, the man had been speaking to her. Or at least trying to speak, since it had been a rather one-sided conversation with her staring into space. "Oh! Sorry, I'm fine… I was just er…" She broke off, flustered. "Sorry. What did you say again?"

The corners of his mouth twitched a little, as if he was suppressing a smile. "I asked you what was so terrible" he replied in a soft voice. Lucrecia felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

"Sorry" she said again, before noticing that was the third time she had apologised in the space of about thirty seconds. "I meant the article. About the terrorists in Wutai. I think it's terrible that they should feel they have to do something like that."

He nodded at her words. "It is. You would hope that an amicable solution could be reached by both parties without having to resort to terrorism."

"That's the way people are though" Lucrecia sighed, shaking her head. "I know Shinra is interested in the Materia over there, but for some reason it's all being dealt with in a very heavy handed way." She glanced up again at the man, to find that he was returning her gaze intently. She fought against the blush again, only this time for different reasons. "I'm sorry, I'm distracting you from your reading, Mr…?" she trailed off, leaving the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Truth be told, Vincent was somewhat taken aback, albeit pleasingly so. Most people working for Shinra knew him and his position by sight, even dressed informally as he was. You only had to look around the room to see that the employees didn't wish to get too close to him, for fear. Yet here was a woman, and it had to be said, a very attractive woman at that, asking his name as if she didn't know who he was. For an instant he thought she was joking. He had been surprised enough when she had asked to sit at the same table. Even more so when she'd started muttering and he'd actually caught sight of her. But a close examination of her face revealed only open, honest curiosity. Reaching the conclusion that she was indeed telling the truth, he decided to answer, hoping she did not notice the glaring omission of his last name, something that was sure to give him away.

"…Vincent. Pleased to meet you." He smiled then, and Lucrecia was glad she was already sitting down, since she was sure her knees had just turned to jelly. "But now you have the advantage of me. Might I enquire as to your name?"

"Lucrecia Crescent, from the Science department" she said by way of introduction. A flicker of recognition passed over Vincent's face.

"Crescent?" he asked. "That name rings a bell… Did you write a paper a few months back on Cetra Physiology?" Lucrecia nodded, wide-eyed.

"Yes, yes I did! But how on earth did you know about that?"

Vincent smiled at her again. "I am fairly well acquainted with Professor Gast, who runs the Science department" he explained. "And in fact, now that I think about it, he has mentioned your name to me before. Although I don't believe I have ever seen you up there."

"I only transferred here a few months ago" Lucrecia replied quickly. He nodded vaguely in understanding - that at least might explain why she didn't know him. "Till then I'd been working out in Mideel. The Professor requested my move, and I was only too happy to accept. Well, I could hardly pass up the chance to work with one of the most brilliant scientists of our time, could I?"

"Of course not."

"And I've always been interested in the Cetra. Finding out about a race long gone… It's fascinating." She was warming to her topic, always excited by talking about her love of the Ancients. "I mean we can learn so much from them! We don't know too much about them at the moment, but I'm sure if we keep on researching we'll find out more." Sensing his eyes boring into her, she felt a little selfish for talking about herself for so long. So she was taken aback to find that they had not glazed over as she would have expected. In fact, he had folded the paper away and was solely intent on her rather rambling conversation. "Sorry" she apologised again. "I get a bit carried away sometimes."

"I don't mind" Vincent said. "I'm also interested in the Cetra, although I'm sure your knowledge far surpasses mine."

Lucrecia laughed. "Well, I have had the advantage of studying them for the past few years" she admitted. "That might help." She decided to turn the topic away from herself for a minute. She wanted to know more about the intriguing man sitting next to her. "How about you? I take it you work for Shinra too?" He nodded.

"Indeed."

"So what do you do?"

Vincent hesitated. This was always difficult. He was engaged in conversation with what seemed like a very nice woman, and he was actually enjoying himself talking with her. On the one hand, he could now tell her that he was an assassin and watch as she inevitably fled from the room. Or alternatively he could skirt round the issue. Dress it up a little. Which was the gutless thing to do, he admitted to himself. It would be a lot less complicated just to come straight out with it. Be honest and up front, right from the beginning.

"I… work for the Department of Administrative Research."

_Gutless_. It would seem that his brain and his mouth had chosen two different paths. Not that it was technically a lie, he decided, wrestling the concept over in his mind. After all, Administrative Research _was_ the official name for the Turks, just one that was rarely used nowadays. She might recognise it.

"I can't say I've heard of them." Nope, obviously she hadn't. "But then there's so many departments in this place it's easy to lose track. Administrative Research? Sounds quite dull, if you don't mind me saying so." Lucrecia stopped, having heard how that sounded. "Not that I mean that in a nasty way" she went on. "It's just 'Administration'… You know. Like you don't get out from behind a desk too much."

It was all Vincent could do not to choke on his coffee. "... You'd be surprised" he replied dryly.

The next half hour passed alarmingly quickly with small talk. Vincent was reluctant to give away too many details about himself or his job, but encouraged Lucrecia to tell him more about her. In truth he found her fascinating. She obviously had plenty of intelligence, you had only to listen to her for a few moments to work that out. She was intensely passionate about her work too, and possessed a wry sense of humour, once she had got over her initial hesitation. It was only when she glanced at her watch that he too noticed how much time had elapsed.

"Oh Odin, look at the time!" Lucrecia exclaimed. "I had no idea it was so late. I've really got to be getting back to my lab." She hurriedly scrambled up from her chair. Politely, Vincent stood up too to help her with her things.

"It was lovely talking to you Vincent" she said, smiling. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." He was never any good at this bit. He knew what he wanted to say, he just wasn't sure if it would come out right. He was fine with giving orders, making thinly veiled threats or interrogating suspects. But faced with a good looking young woman, it was as if he had all the words neatly lined up in his mind, but just as he was about to say them they vanished into thin air. _Being a Turk definitely had an impact on your social skills_, he thought bitterly. _Oh... To hell with it_.

"Look, I don't suppose you'd be free for lunch later this week?" He paused, going to leave it at that, but yet again, his mouth had other ideas and started running away before he could get a grip. "I mean, I know you're probably busy and you don't have to, but I just thought…"

Lucrecia couldn't hide the blush this time. He was very charming, she had to admit. And it might be nice to have a break from work…

"Alright… I'm busy in the labs tomorrow, but is Thursday any good?"


	7. Chapter 7

It must have been around two in the afternoon when Vincent strolled into the Turks Lounge. Linden was slouched in a chair watching the TV, as he had been for the past few days. His arm was still in a sling, although the plaster had come off. The doctors at the hospital had warned him against using it quite yet, so he was restricted in the kind of duties he could perform. His usual role of personal bodyguard was obviously out. Normally he'd have been stuck on surveillance, one of the most tedious and loathed jobs around, but for once things were surprisingly quiet on that front. News of Elton Sullivan's unfortunate accident had rapidly filtered through the criminal underground and it seemed that most people were, for the time being, maintaining the lowest of low profiles.

"Afternoon boss." The slumped Turk raised his unbroken arm in a vague acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the screen. Thankfully Vincent was in a good mood having just returned from lunch with Lucrecia, and decided to let this blatant display of apathy pass. Besides, he would probably have felt the same way if he'd been the one unable to do much for a few weeks. "I pulled the stuff you wanted. It's all on the table."

Now that was more like it. Vincent walked over to the table in question, where he found a series of manila files spread out. Each one contained several sheets of paper, and had a label on the front. The labels all had names. Co-incidentally, these names matched with those spilled from the mouth of one Mr Sullivan. He picked up the nearest one marked 'Devlin Kirke' and leafed through it. "They're all here?"

Linden snorted in derision. "What do you take me for? Of course they're all bloody there. Just because I've got a broken arm doesn't mean I forgot how to do my job."

"Touché." Vincent's' mouth quirked up in a brief smile.

He wandered over to the wall, where a large notice board was fixed. On this was a huge, spidery web of photos, labels, tags and string, woven together to form an intricate map. Everything pinned onto the board represented a snapshot of the lawless fraternity the Turks dealt with. A person's name and a few choice pieces of information was neatly written on each piece of paper. Occasionally, a name label was cross hatched in red – Elton Sullivan was one of these. Others, like Mak Xu, were almost blacked out. One or two had a green pin stuck in them. Others had red pins. These labels were linked together by pieces of string, joining names with other names. The strings had tags wrapped around them, again with information scrawled on them. This was more along the lines of 'worked for' and 'accepted bribe from', giving a quick appraisal of the relationship between the two people named on the labels.

Vincent pulled a red pin from the bottom of the board and stuck it firmly into Devlin Kirke's label. The board had been his idea, created as a way of keeping track of the vast network of the people they associated with. There was a definite system to it. Green pins marked Turk grasses, people who could be pumped for information should the need arise. Red pins marked potential hits, meaning that life was likely to take an unpleasant turn for Mr Kirke. A cross hatched label meant the Turks had paid a visit but had been lenient. A black label indicated they'd paid a visit and hadn't.

Preston Drake, the fourth member of the elite group, emerged from the training room at the far end of the Lounge, wiping a towel across his face. He wasn't wearing the usual Turk attire, but rather a plain white gi with a black belt tied round his waist. Following him out was a smaller and older man, similarly dressed but without so much as a drop of sweat on him.

"Good session?" enquired Linden from his chair. Preston gave him a withering look.

"I'm knackered" he replied shortly. "The Sensei is a hard taskmaster."

The second man smiled warmly. "It is always a pleasure to teach you Turks" he said to Linden. "Do not forget that your lessons will continue once your arm has healed." He turned to face Vincent. "And I believe that I will be seeing you tomorrow, Mr Valentine."

Vincent tried hard not to wince. Whilst he greatly enjoyed practicing the martial arts and had become very skilled over the past few years, he still felt like he'd had all hell knocked out of him after a lesson with Master Tzu. Every time he thought he'd managed to get the upper hand, the wily old teacher pulled something new out of the bag. "I look forward to it, Sensei" he replied, hoping he didn't sound too pained. If it did show through, the karate instructor politely ignored it, giving them a quick bow before leaving the Lounge. Vincent and Linden watched in amusement as Preston collapsed into a chair, covering his face with the towel and let out a long moan.

"I'm dying" he complained. "I swear on my mother's life that I am about to die."

Linden grinned evilly. "Your mother is already dead" he stated bluntly, and just to prove a point, he leaned over and poked his colleague in the ribs.

"Argh, stop that." Linden obligingly ignored him. "I _will_ have to kill you."

Poke, poke. "Nah, you wouldn't hurt an injured, unarmed, defenceless man." He continued his assault. Preston pulled the damp towel from off his face and looked towards Vincent. "Tell him to stop it" he pleaded, as the finger relentlessly jabbed at him. "I hurt all over and I can't even feel my legs."

Vincent rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "And I thought you were both big enough and ugly enough to look after yourselves" he sighed. "Preston stop whining and Linden stop behaving like a two year old. Honestly, I feel like your mother half the time."

Linden sulkily ceased his offensive. "What's got into you today?" he asked. "For someone that normally goes round looking like Mr Tall-Dark-And-Broody, you seem remarkably chipper." Vincent quickly turned his attention back to the board. He hadn't told the Turks about his recent lunchtime dates with Lucrecia. He wasn't stupid after all, and he knew what would happen once they got hold of that little juicy piece of information. So he'd carried on meeting the scientist for lunch every other day or so, without informing his colleagues of his whereabouts. No-one had picked up on anything out of the ordinary, since the leader of the Turks was often away on business.

"Nothing." He took a sudden intense interest in arranging all the little pins. Linden however was not fooled for a minute.

"Uh uh, no, you're hiding something" he reasoned. "You look guilty from where I'm sitting. So what's got into you? Money? New car?"

"No, and no" answered Vincent, stone faced.

"You're not a very good liar are you?" Linden thought for a minute. "You won a bet?"

"No."

"You killed someone?"

"No."

"You got laid?" He broke off for a minute, and a wicked leer spread across his face. "Perhaps" he speculated, "I should have rephrased that question. Should it be who have _you_ got into?"

He should have just kept up his monosyllabic replies, but some part of Vincent took umbrage to Lucrecia being referred to in such a vulgar fashion. So instead of maintaining his cool, the leader of the Turks spun around, vehemently voicing his innocence. "I haven't done anything of the sort, alright?" he protested, before cursing himself for falling victim to such a simple trap.

A broken arm didn't stop Linden from jumping out of his chair and whooping, pointing at his superior in victory. "AH-HA! That's as good as a confession! So, it _is_ a woman then! Who is she?"

Preston had also perked up, although he seemed more disinclined to move. "Ooh, is it that one from Weapons?"

"No." Vincent tried to resume normal, single word service and outright denial, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle here. Still, he wasn't going down without a fight.

"Jancis from Reception? She was giving you such a come on the other day…"

"No!"

Linden walked over to Vincent and dragged him away from the notice board. "Look" he said soothingly, "you know that we'll find out sooner or later, so you might as well just save yourself the hassle and tell us now. After all, you're awful with women and you need us to give you advice on how to handle her."

"I need advice from _you_?" Vincent asked incredulously. "I get this from a man who's last girlfriend, and I use the term loosely, hung around for all of four days before doing a runner? _This_ man is going to give me advice on _my_ love life?" He smirked. "I think I was doing pretty well on my own, as it happens."

Preston leaned forward. "You still haven't told us who she is" he reminded everyone.

Vincent decided that in the face of this bombardment, there were times when you just had to roll over and surrender. "Do you promise not to interfere?" he asked. Both Linden and Preston swore on their mothers (those living and dead respectively) that they would not. "Alright, alright. Her name is Lucrecia Crescent, she's a biologist from the Science department."

The leer re-appeared on Linden's face. "A doctor eh? Has she got a little nurses uniform? You know, like the kind you can get in that shop in Sector Four?"

"Pervert."

"Reasonable request!" Linden retorted. "Alright, so you said you haven't done anything. Why not?"

"Because" explained Vincent patiently, "I am a gentleman and not as lecherous as you are. She's a friend, we've just gone to lunch a couple of times, that's all."

"Where?" Silence greeted this particular question. "Vincent, where did you take her?"

The leader of the Turks, one of the most feared men on the continent, was reduced to looking sheepishly at his shoes. "The Marlin Restaurant" he mumbled. "But that was only because…"

Linden resumed his pointing. "Marlin? You took her to the Marlin? You must really like her then. Hoo hoo, this gets better and better…"

oOo

Lucrecia and her lab partner, Davram Kincaid were conducting an experiment on some cellular debris when the human hurricane burst in through the door, surprising the two soldiers standing guard over it.

"Alright Crescent!" demanded Christa. "Spill the beans! I saw you having lunch with someone and I want details!"

Lucrecia tried furiously to suppress a blush, but got the distinct impression she was failing. Abysmally. "It was just lunch" she protested to her colleagues as casually as she could manage. "There's no law against having lunch with someone, is there?"

Davram briefly looked up from his Petri dish. "That depends entirely on who it was with" he stated, before returning to his study.

"And" continued Christa "why it was in the Marlin Restaurant. One of, if not _the_ most, expensive places to eat in the whole of Midgar!"

"How do you know about that?"

Christa smiled. "I had to go into town earlier. I was walking past and happened to see you sitting there with a mystery man."

"Just a guy…" Lucrecia ventured. "I met him in the lounge the other week, and he seemed nice."

"Just a guy?" Christa rolled her eyes. "Dr Crescent has a date for the first time in millennia, at the Marlin Restaurant no less, and she says he was 'just a guy'… Honestly, I don't know what to do with you. Who was he?" Lucrecia laughed in spite of herself. Her friend was always the first with office scuttlebutt, and now she had struck gold she wasn't about to let it go.

She made an attempt to gather up her dignity. "I've had dates" she replied haughtily. "And recently. Well, fairly recently anyway. In the past few years, certainly. And this wasn't a date, it was just… lunch."

Christa didn't look fazed for a second. "Rubbish" she observed, his back might have been facing me but you weren't, and I saw the way you looked at him. You're smitten!"

"I am not!" Lucrecia retorted automatically, but she couldn't help a smile tugging at her lips. Well, he _was_ very handsome…

"Now who is he?"

The petite scientist shrugged. "Like I said, I met him a few weeks ago, when I went for some food. He's really nice, very good looking…" She saw Christa grin at that little comment. "And he'd even read that article I wrote on the Cetra. He works for Shinra, though I'm not sure exactly what he does. Think he's one of the paper pushers from upstairs. At least that's what it sounded like."

"Upstairs, eh?" Davram had for the time being lost interest in his cell samples and was more concerned with his lab partners' tale. "That's probably why he could afford a place like the Marlin. Which department is he? We can root him out for you…"

"I think it was Administration of some kind." Lucrecia thought back to what he had told her. "That was it, the Department of Administrative Research."

Silence greeted her statement. She looked round, and saw her friends' faces blanch. Davram's mouth was hanging slightly open, and Christa was positively choking on something. Both their eyes were wide with alarm. "What?" she asked. "I don't understand. Why are you both looking like dead halibuts?"

Davram was the first to regain control of his voice. "Administrative Research?" he asked. "You're sure that was it? Administrative Research?"

"Well yes." She couldn't see what all the fuss was about. "What's the big deal?"

"That's the Turks, you idiot!" blurted Christa. "The Department for Administrative Research is the bloody _Turks_!" Now it was Lucrecia's turn to be stunned into silence. She'd just been having lunch with a…

"Which one?" asked Davram quickly. All pretence of interest in his work now evaporated. "What was his name?"

Lucrecia was rapidly getting flustered. "Hm? Oh, er… Vincent… That's what he said. Vincent from Administrative Research…"

Once again, her colleagues were reduced to a shocked hush. Christa shook her head slowly, sinking onto a lab stool. "Oh God, 'Crecia…" she murmured. "You do know who that is, don't you?" No immediate response indicated that she probably did not.

"That's Vincent Valentine" Davram breathed. "Valentine, as in leader of the Turks… You have to be kidding me. _Please_ tell me you're kidding me."

"What?" was all the amazed Lucrecia was able to say.

"Did you just mention Mr Valentine?" All three whipped their heads round, to see one of the soldiers standing behind them. He was a young man of about twenty, blonde hair and smart uniform. "Sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing. You were talking about Mr Valentine, of the Turks?"

Christa nodded mutely. Lucrecia managed a wan smile. "You… know him?"

The soldier nodded proudly. "Sure, everyone knows Mr Valentine" he said respectfully. Lucrecia, Christa and Davram exchanged glances.

"But aren't the military and the Turks… different?" Christa ventured. The young man nodded.

"Yes, but the Turks hold military rank as well. Mr Valentine is technically a General in the army, what with him being leader of the Turks and everything. He trains us sometimes, taught me how to shoot." He swelled with pride. "He said I was good, too. Imagine that! From the best Turk ever!" With that, the soldier departed, offering a friendly smile. The three scientists stood for a moment, collecting their wits.

"So let me get this straight" said Davram after a while. "You have just had lunch with the leader of the Turks, and you didn't know it."

Lucrecia looked sheepish. "I didn't know it was him" she answered. "He didn't look like a… And he was really nice… I didn't know who he was…"


	8. Chapter 8

The glass elevator doors swished shut, and began its ascent to the Science department. Inside, Vincent leaned against the railing and gazed out onto the city of Midgar. It was an overcast day, and the Upper Plate was shrouded in a murky grey cloud. He scowled. It reflected his mood perfectly.

She was avoiding him.

The Turks were not trained to be psychologists, but their daily work brought them into close contact with a lot of people, and after a while they learned to pick upon certain aspects of human behaviour. The first time, she had left a message with the receptionist, saying that he couldn't make lunch because of an experiment that had overrun. He'd accepted that easily. Fair enough, sometimes that kind of thing happens. The second time she was simply unavailable. This time, when she left no explanation at all, he knew she was going out of her way to avoid seeing him. He thought back to the last time they'd met up. The pair of them had enjoyed an exquisite lunch at the best eaterie in the city. They had chatted about a number of things, and as far as he could tell, had both enjoyed the experience. They had parted amicably back at the HQ, with the promise to repeat the excursion in a day or so.

It also slightly worried him that he was more than a little bit bothered about this. His last girlfriend, Lissa, had got the jitters after a few months, and he hadn't been particularly upset by it – Truth be told, his complete lack of emotional commitment was cited as one of her reasons for leaving. But now, when a woman he had only known for a matter of weeks (and even then only talked to), suddenly started avoiding him, he was… rattled. His mind was being particularly un-cooperative, throwing up an image of her face just when he least expected it. It was most distracting. He'd been in conference with General Freeman yesterday, discussing the very serious matter of an assault on Wutai. The General was pointing out various areas on a map that were suitable for an ambush, when he'd realised that he hadn't heard anything for the past five minutes because he'd been thinking about how nice Lucrecia looked when she smiled. Thankfully he'd managed to regain composure and bluff his way out of the situation, but nonetheless, this was a most disturbing development.

So now, he found himself on his way to the floor where she worked. He kept telling himself that it was only to converse with Professor Gast and pick up his latest materia analysis, but he wasn't even fooling himself with that line. He could have sent anyone up to do this chore. Linden would have jumped at the chance to get out of the Lounge, and there were a million and one more important things that the leader of the Turks should have been spending his time doing. But he'd done it himself anyway, because there was always the chance of running into her.

_Damn._

Gast was, as it turned out, expecting Vincent when he arrived. The Professor was waiting in his lab, report in hand.

"Ah" he said when the Turk walked in, "just the man I was hoping to see." He pushed a large wad of paper over the desk. "Sorry this has taken longer than expected, we've had a few unexpected surprises come up."

Vincent raised an eyebrow as he took the folder. "Surprises? With the Materia?"

The scientists made a 'so-so' gesture. "Yes and no" he answered. "Certainly the Materia you gave us are far in excess of what we expected. The purity is almost off the scale." He indicated the report with his hand. "If that doesn't please the President then nothing will."

"Let's hope" muttered Vincent dryly. "I haven't been able to give him much in the way of good news recently." He tucked the file under his arm. "So I'm assuming that wasn't the only surprise?"

Gast grinned. Obviously he was extremely pleased about something. "Indeed, although this is of no real relevance to your Materia." He pulled out a photograph from his labcoat. "Look at this."

Vincent took the proffered image and stared at it. Then he rotated it 90 degrees. Then turned it upside down. His expression was one of indulgent confusion. "Professor" he said at length. "This is white. A lot of white. What am I looking at here?"

"I should think you ought to know" replied Gast, "after all, you were born near there." Pieces began to click into place inside Vincents' head.

"Icicle Village? This is the great glacier?"

"Close enough. It's not the Gaia Cliff, if that's what you mean." He passed over a second photograph. "It's an ice sheet about half a mile north from there. This is probably a better view of it."

Vincent studied the second picture and nodded slowly. "This one is clearer" he stated. "I can recognise it now. In fact, I used to climb up there when I was younger. My parents would have had a fit if they'd known."

Gast laughed lightly. "Always the troublemaker eh, Mr Valentine?" The Turk shot him a hurt look. "Heh, I won't pursue that any further. But the cliff, we were investigating it. We'd located what seemed to be a source of Mako energy, buried under the ice. No-one could tell for sure what was going on down there, so we got a team together to dig through and find out. What we found a few days ago surpassed even our wildest imaginings!"

Vincent looked quizzical. He couldn't remember ever having heard of anything interesting happening in his hometown, let alone something that would excite Gast so much. "What was it?" he enquired, curious.

The old Professors' eyes lit up as he leaned forward across the desk to whisper the answer. "A Cetra!"

Of all he possible things that Gast could have said, that was the least likely, as far as Vincent was concerned. Certainly he was amazed. His discussions with the Professor and indeed in recent weeks, with Lucrecia, had touched on the Cetra and he had found them to be an intriguing race. Lucrecia had a particular interest in them, and part of his brain couldn't help but wonder what she would think of this news. Even so, he was completely taken aback by the statement.

"An Ancient? But I thought they died out thousands of years ago?"

"That they did, Mr Valentine" Gast assured him. "The Cetra were all but wiped out by some kind of disease. Not much is known now, but we have salvaged a few records. All we can be sure of is that a virus swept through the population, killing the majority. Quite why they were affected and not humans, who can say?" A distinct look of longing filled his face. "What I wouldn't give to know what happened! Beyond this is pure conjecture – we think that the remaining Ancients gathered together in what was to become Icicle Village to try and stop the rot. Sadly whatever they tried failed, and they died out. But we've found one, buried in the ice!"

"You're sure it's an Ancient?" Vincent couldn't help but be a bit sceptical. To find something so large after such a long period of time was almost impossible. "I don't mean to cast doubt on you Professor, but how can you know…" He broke off as a third and final picture was handed over to him.

One look at the contents gave him all the answer he needed. It took him a few seconds to figure out what he was looking at, since the object of the photo was encased in a coffin of ice. But underneath the frozen surface, was the body of a woman. Yet this was like no woman he had ever seen before. Her skin was mottled blue green, a range of hues that merged across her body. This in itself was warped and deformed, bent in places, seemingly missing in others. But it was her face that caught the attention of the Turk more than anything else. It was definitely female, perhaps even beautiful in some ways. It too was coloured in that delicate shade of blue. But the expression… The woman was obviously dead, her eyes were closed and she was thousands of years old. But Vincent couldn't shake the impression that she looked more asleep, just waiting to wake up. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine.

"Merciful Odin…" he breathed. Gast could only nod in assent.

"A perfectly preserved Cetra. Flash frozen it would appear, such is the state the body was found in." He looked Vincent in the eye, suddenly serious. "Of course, this is not common knowledge" he advised. "Only a few are aware of the discovery. The President of course, and a few members of Shinra. You would have been informed anyway, so I don't mind telling you now. But beyond these four walls…"

Vincent held up a hand. "I understand completely Professor. It shall go no further, I assure you."

The two concluded their meeting, exchanging thoughts and a few more pleasantries before Vincent left. He wandered back towards the lift deep in thought. A Cetra… He was sure that the President would find a way to turn that remarkable discovery into some kind of advantage. He was so engrossed in his musings, that he failed to notice when he bumped into someone. A flurry of paper went flying into the air, and the scientist he'd knocked hurriedly bent down to pick them up.

"Shit! Sorry, I didn't see you. Let me help you with that…" He crouched down to help retrieve the errant notes, and came face to face with none other than Lucrecia. All semblance of thought went flying out of his head, and she went white as a sheet. The world seemed to stop for a few brief moments while they just stared at each other.

Lucrecia was the first to break off eye contact, quickly scrabbling around to pick up her papers and the world resumed its normal motion. "No! Thank you, I'm fine" she blurted, getting to her feet quickly. Bemused, Vincent followed suit, just in time to see her start off down the hall.

"Wait!" he called after her. "You dropped these…" A sheaf of paper was clutched in his hand. She turned and saw them, and seemed to be fighting an inner battle over whether or not to go back for them. Eventually, practicality won out and she nervously retraced her steps to pluck them from his outstretched hand. She went to pull her arm back, but found that he had not let go of them.

"You're avoiding me."

It was a statement, not a question. She looked up, and saw him gazing down at her. Not angry like she would have expected, but… sad? She could have laughed. A Turk? Sad? Madness.

"Why?"

What could she say? 'Because you're a cold hearted killer who murders people for a living'? She couldn't find the words, just looked helplessly at him, taking in the blue suit that he was wearing. This was the first time she'd seen him in it, and there was a nagging voice in the back of her head that was telling her that he actually looked even nicer than usual with it on. She tried to ignore it.

Vincent saw her eyes fixed to the outfit, and everything fell into place. "You know" he said flatly. Lucrecia nodded. "You know who I am."

"I'm so sorry…" she murmured, then made one last attempt to prise the notes from his grasp. He offered no resistance this time, all the fight having left him, seeing the look on her face before she once more fled down the hallway.


	9. Chapter 9

"…And it was all fine until that woman started having an affair with my husband!"

On the TV, two distinctive looking women simultaneously went for each others throats, trading insults and abuse. In between them sat a man, obviously very pleased with himself, looking on as the pair dissolved into a catfight. The host of the show stood on, powerless to intervene.

"Two Gil whore!"

Linden chuckled as he watched. He had been restricted to the Lounge for a while now, only allowed out on missions when there was non-strenuous job to be done. Frustrated, he had passed the time by watching trashy TV shows and taking the mickey out of anyone unfortunate to cross his path. Since he had hardly left the Turks floor, this list had been considerably narrowed down to two prime targets. Preston had threatened to compound on Linden's injury tally, while Vincent had opted to simply ignore him (although he'd noticed that the leader of the Turks had been acting even weirder than normal the past few days).

Nothing sobered you up like almost getting killed, and he'd spent a couple of days feeling out of sorts. He was feeling much better now that Deacon had been released from hospital, plus his own plaster cast had been taken off.

The two women on TV were being forcibly separated by four burly security men.

"Now ladies… Ladies please…"

"She's nothing but a cheap slut!"

And they were off again.

It was at this point that the main door smashed open, and a infuriated looking Vincent strode in. Linden opened his mouth to enquire how his superior was, but changed his mind. Slamming the door behind him, Vincent stormed across the room and into the practice dojo without a word.

The junior Turk watched his leader intently. Vincent had never been one for displays of emotion (a long standing joke amongst the group revolved around his actually being a prototype from the Robotics Division) so there weren't many things that could get him riled up like that. An affront or injury to a member of the Turks was one, they'd found that out recently, though they hadn't discovered it as intimately as Mr Sullivan had. Seeing as how he personally was still in one piece, Linden was almost certain it wasn't that, so as far as he was concerned it came down to either an exceptionally obnoxious assignment or a woman. And considering that Vincent's last words before departing earlier were "I'm just off to the Science department", you didn't have to be a world class detective to put two and two together. The smart money was on a certain little lady scientist.

Normally the private affairs of other employees were just that – private. But the relationship between the Turks went somewhat beyond the norm. When you worked closely with a small group of people like they did, risking your life almost every time you went outside (and inside as well now he thought about it), you looked out for each other. Hells, the only real time Vincent let down a little of his infamous guard was when the Turks were off duty together. One for all and all for one.

Linden pondered for a moment before easing himself out of his chair and slowly strolling over to the door of the practice room. Vincent was always extremely touchy about personal matters, and there was a 50/50 chance he'd get his head bitten off for even trying, the mood his leader was in right now. Still…

He reached the door, and leaned on the frame, watching. Vincent was inside, pulling off his jacket and tie. A karate gi was heaped on the floor next to him. He noticed Linden arrive and looked up at him, although he didn't stop getting changed.

"Don't even start" he warned the other Turk. "One smart ass comment from you and I'll give you more than a broken arm."

Linden rocked back on his heels. _Oooookay. Definitely woman trouble._ He opted to remain in the doorway, not overly enthusiastic about getting much closer to his irate superior.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, deciding to take a slightly more subtle approach than he normally would. "What did she do?"

Vincent scowled in response. "What makes you think it's anything to do with Lucrecia?" he muttered darkly. Linden gave a lopsided grin, seeing his deductions hit home.

"You're looking at the man who's seen more women go cuckoo than he's had hot dinners" he reminded his colleague. "I've seen _everything_. From the kind who throw plates at your wall to those that go for your throat with a knife. In fact I'm probably over-qualified in that department. So I have this sixth sense about these things. Plus you kind of gave it away with the look on your face when you said her name."

Nailed him. Linden waited while Vincent donned the karate outfit and tied a thick black belt round his waist. When he was finished, he paused, and stared straight at the blank wall.

"She knows who I am" he said eventually. "What I am."

"And she didn't before?"

"No."

Linden whistled. That might explain one or two things. Vincent finally turned his head round. "She's just over from Mideel and didn't recognise me, and I never told her outright. Now she's done some detective work and found out that she's been having lunch with one of Shinra's assassins and she's having some kind of panic attack and won't even look at me let alone talk to me and why the _hell_ am I telling you anything about my personal life?" He managed to get all of that out without pausing for breath. Linden was impressed.

"That's gotta be the most I've ever heard you say all at once" he remarked before he could stop himself.

"You're a glutton for punishment. What body parts are non-essential to your job?"

"I work better with everything intact, thanks" retorted the blonde man quickly. "Anyway, you're telling me about this because you're pissed off and I've got way more experience dealing with women than you."

Vincent walked over slowly. "Linden Nelson, you promised me, on pain of pain, that you would not interfere with this." Linden held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Sure, but that doesn't mean I can't offer some friendly advice about it, does it?" Silence. Vincent stalked back over to the centre of the room and assumed the starting position of the opening kata, hoping that physical exertion would help release his anger. "Either forget about her or do your damndest to get her back. I can tell you like her, so why aren't you out there sorting it?"

He didn't get any form of reply this time, and it appeared that the conversation was at an end. Vincent was pointedly ignoring his colleague, instead moving through the motions of the karate kata. Linden pursed his lips and thought for a minute, before leaving the room and heading straight out of the Lounge and into a lift.

oOo

"Excuse me, Dr Crescent?"

Lucrecia turned round, hearing someone calling her name across the HQ reception area. She found herself face to face with a tall man, slightly scruffy in appearance, jogging over to her. His tie was half undone, and his white shirt was creased, but for the second time in one day, there was no mistaking the distinctive blue suit. This man was a Turk.

Unconsciously she backed away towards the exit, holding her files in front of her chest as a barrier. Not that it was much of a deterrent. "Sorry?"

The man smiled disarmingly and her treacherous brain started wondering how many people had died with that smile as the last thing they saw. None of which helped her nervousness in the slightest, and she took a couple more faltering steps backward. However, now the man had found her, he made no other move, instead simply stood there, hands in pockets, relaxed.

For his part, Linden was quite pleased with himself. Upon leaving the Turks Lounge, he'd gone straight up to the Science department and accosted the nearest person in a white coat he came across to ask for Lucrecia's whereabouts. The cornered scientist explained that Dr Crescent had left on an errand into the city only a few minutes ago. Cursing under his breath, he pelted back into the lift, and bolted out into Reception, in the hope that he would catch her before she vanished into the general populace. He was hampered by the fact he'd never actually seen her before, and was relying on Vincent's very ambiguous description. He was beginning to wonder if he was too late, when a woman emerged from a stairwell. She was of medium height, with light brown hair pulled back into a pony tail by a thread of yellow ribbon. A pair of small glasses were perched on her delicate face. Looking at her, Linden had to appreciate Vincent's taste. The Doctor was wearing a skirt, not short enough to be scandalous, but of a length that showed off her legs to perfection. A knitted sweater concealed the rest of her curves, giving vague hints as to what lay beneath. This had to be her.

"You are Dr Lucrecia Crescent, aren't you?" She nodded, mute. "Thought so" he grinned. "The boss said you were pretty, and I've always had an eye for the pretty ones."

His casual manner was doing her nerves no good whatsoever. The boss. That could only be one person, couldn't it? Had Vincent sent one of his henchmen to remonstrate with her for avoiding him? After that scene in the Science Department earlier... She felt all the colour drain from her face.

The man made no threatening moves however. Although he freely admitted the fact that he was a notorious womaniser, Linden also knew how to be smooth with the ladies. Immediately he noticed that the Doctor was on edge and decided to deploy the full force of his charm. "Please, there's something I wanna chat to you about. Would you walk with me a minute?" he said politely, offering her his arm.

Apprehensively, Lucrecia accepted, figuring that if he was out to kill her then he would have done so by now. Anyway, even if she ran the Turks would catch up with her, they always did…

"You know, once you've been a Turk for while, you start to notice things about women."

"You do?" she answered warily. He nodded in response as he escorted her out of the HQ and onto the busy street.

"Sure you do. Like, there's basically two kinds of woman. The first kind find the whole idea of being a Turk a turn on. They like bad boys, the danger, the life. Gold diggers, a lot of them, we got money and they want a share. You get them all the time, throwing themselves at you." He flashed a toothy grin. "Then there's the other kind of girl, the nice ones, the intelligent ones. The ones you can a conversation with. They get scared by the job that you do and they run away." Lucrecia couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eye. Instead she just carried on walking, arm in arm, down the pavement.

"Now me" the man carried on, "me I like the first kind of woman. Easy come, easy go. I'm not bothered about any of this conversation stuff, it's not my thing. But Vincent, now he's different. He likes the second kind of woman." He looked over at her and this time she caught his eye. "He likes you."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. He liked her! A man actually liked her, and a handsome, intelligent man at that. But a Turk… He was a killer, there was no getting around that. She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn't give her the opportunity.

"Now, I'm guessing you didn't know what he did until a few days ago, am I right? You found out he was a Turk and you got scared. Not that I blame you. We've got a terrible reputation, and we deserve it. I'm an asshole, I know that, and I wouldn't blame any woman for getting out while she could. Vincent isn't, he's not a bastard like I am." Linden stopped walking and turned round to face her full on. "I'm gonna ask you a question, and I want an honest answer, OK?"

"OK." Lucrecia bit her lip, wondering where this was leading.

"You liked him, didn't you? Before you knew he was a Turk, I mean."

The young scientist dropped her gaze. Yes, she did like him. The leader of the Turks was a charismatic man in his own way. Quiet, but clever. He'd always been polite, listened to her and took an interest in what she said, something men had never seemed to do before. Past experience had proved that at the mere mention of the word "science", most peoples' eyes glazed over very quickly. She nodded weakly. "Yes, I do. I mean, I did."

"Alright. He hasn't changed since you found out, he's still the same guy. So what's the problem?"

Lucrecia frowned a little – couldn't he see what the problem was? "He's a _Turk_!" she exclaimed.

"So? He was a Turk when you met him and you liked him well enough then."

The scientist stopped in her tracks, halting her companion. "Did he put you up to this?" she asked, some of her fear having been transformed into mild anger. Irate that he was questioning her judgement like this, and although she wouldn't admit it, did actually have a point. "If he sent you here to try and sweet talk me…"

The scruffy Turk looked decidedly embarrassed. "No, he didn't" Linden said hastily, raising his hands in protest. "In fact, he expressly forbid me from ever interfering in his love life a long time ago." Was it just her imagination or was he shuffling his feet? "If he knew I was doing this now he'd go into conniptions…"

In spite of herself, Lucrecia found a tiny smile worming its way onto her face. This entire situation was so completely ridiculous that some part of her couldn't help but find it amusing.

"In fact it wouldn't surprise me if he grounded me for another week" Linden moped, wandering off into a world of his own. "If I have to spend one more day in there I'll go _crazy_. Or he could put me on surveillance, I bet that's something his sick mind would find hilarious." He suddenly realised she was staring at him. "Not that he's sick" he clarified hastily, "I just mean he's got this weird sense of humour. I say humour, it's more like… Ah crap."

As she regarded him, Lucrecia noticed that he didn't seem anywhere near as intimidating as he had to begin with. If he hadn't been wearing the suit, she would have thought him to be like any other man she'd met. Resigned, finally she allowed her smile to spread. "You do realise that I have absolutely no idea who you are" she said.

Linden quickly introduced himself. "Linden Nelson, at your service" he replied with a cheeky grin. "Incidentally, are there many women in the Science department as good looking as you?"


	10. Chapter 10

Vincent moved in silence, his concentration solely focused on the complicated kata he was currently performing. The motions helped him vent his frustration, and considering his other preferred option was to thump inanimate objects, this was by far the better of the two. Last time he'd got this wound up he'd picked a fight with a wall which had left his hand bruised for a week. Technically the wall had won that little incident, but he had managed to take out a sizeable chunk of plaster and put the fear of God into his fellow Turks at the same time, so the experience wasn't a complete loss.

Usually he sparred with Deacon or Linden, but thanks to their injuries that hadn't been possible. Preston put up a good fight now and then, but he was more often than not away on assignment. Right now though, solitude was the order of the day, so he instead chose to practice the karate movements he had been taught, kicking and punching the air as he put his body through its paces. If his mind was concerned with the practice then it wasn't off thinking about what made him angry in the first place. Spinning on one heel, he planted his foot squarely in the gut of one invisible opponent, before following through with three quick, successive punches to a second.

_Focus._

He snapped one leg out and back in the blink of an eye. A third opponent would have been dropped by the kick.

_Discipline._

His left arm moved above his head, blocking an anticipated blow, before swiftly reversing and lashing out behind him.

_Concentrate._

oOo

Lucrecia couldn't help but look round in surprise as she stepped into the Turks Lounge. Linden pocketed his swipe card, letting her pass through the door. Only a select few held authorisation to enter this area of the HQ - the Turks, the President and one or two carefully selected individuals. There was too much risk involved otherwise, and any visitors were escorted by a Turk at all times. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected. A vast armoury, she supposed, some kind of dirty pit of depravity. What she hadn't expected was this clean, quiet atmosphere, comfortable seats and wide screen TV.

Ushering her through, Linden propelled the scientist in the direction of the practice room. "He's in there", the Turk whispered. "Be gentle with him." The door was ajar, and Lucrecia cautiously approached, putting her head round while Linden hung back a way.

Inside, she saw Vincent, oblivious to everything around him. He looked so graceful, flowing from one movement to the next without pause or hesitation. Like a cat, she thought. Or a coiled spring, waiting to go off… A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Seeing him like this served as a vivid reminder of just how dangerous he was. Dangerous, and powerful. She could see now why Linden's 'first kind of woman' as he put it were attracted to Turks.

The petite scientist watched as he fluidly ran through the movements like it were a dance. The top of the gi had come apart slightly, exposing a slim but muscular chest. Yes, certainly attractive…

"He's not bad, is he?"

She jumped, unaware that Linden had walked up behind her and was standing only a few inches away, speaking quietly. She wondered if he'd noticed exactly the way her eyes were glued to the leader of the Turks

"He won a martial arts tournament a few months ago" Linden breathed. Lucrecia felt thankful, obviously he thought she was appreciating the karate rather than the performer. "And he kicks our scrawny butts on a regular basis. Only the Sensei can give him a proper whipping, more's the pity."

They stood there for a few more moments, before it became evident that Vincent was lost in his own world and wasn't going to notice them of his own accord, at least not any time yet. Squeezing himself past Lucrecia, Linden stepped into the room and coughed loudly.

"Er… boss?"

Vincent stopped midway through a series of kicks and punches, clearly surprised at the interruption. His face, normally a wonderfully blank canvas, chose this moment to register an amusing sequence of emotion. Startled at first, then questioning when he saw Linden. Once his eyes alighted on Lucrecia they widened, before narrowing in a grimace as his gaze settled back on the other Turk.

Linden coughed again. "There's someone here to see you" he said briskly, before hurriedly excusing himself. Having caught Vincent's attention, he now wanted to get out of it as quickly as was physically possible before repercussions started being handed out.

The leader of the Turks, still mildly pole-axed, stood in the middle of the dojo, speechless. On one hand, even though his rage had mostly abated by this point, it was starting to simmer again, with the realisation that despite promising to the contrary, Linden had taken matters into his own hands and interfered. But on the flip side of the coin, Lucrecia was here, and she wasn't running away, and she was talking to him, and he hadn't been paying attention for the last minute because he'd been thinking all this, and… He decided that he'd better start paying attention, and quick.

"So, you see" she was saying, "Linden kind of explained things to me."

"In his own inimitable way, no doubt" Vincent couldn't help but point out.

Lucrecia conceded the addition with a slight inclination of her head. "True, he is a character… But he did make me think again about some things." She looked up at him, fiddling with her hands as she did so. "Incidentally, he muttered something about being put on surveillance for months for doing this to you."

"If he's lucky" the tall Turk murmured darkly under his breath. If she heard, Lucrecia ignored the comment.

"And I'd really rather appreciate it if you didn't, after all I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for him running round the building trying to find me." She started to walk over to where he was standing. Vincent eyed her with uncertainty, unsure of where precisely the conversation was heading. "And now I think about it, I realise that although Turks do things that maybe I don't completely approve of, there's things we do in Science that others don't approve of." She gave a wry smile. "Boy, if I had 10 Gil for every animal rights protestor that's hounded us, I'd be…" she floundered. "Well, I'd be very rich, put it that way. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm sorry for avoiding you, I just got a bit put off by the whole… Turk thing." She made 'pointy gun' gestures with her hands, as if to emphasise the idea. "I was hasty and judgemental, and I ought to have known better. So if you'd like to… you know…"

Two main thoughts went through Vincent's head. Firstly that he was probably supposed to say something at this point, and secondly that for some strange reason, all his linguistic ability had vanished, rendering him speechless. He started to try and say something, but then stopped. Thought of something else, but decided not to say that either. He had the sinking feeling that he was doing a fair imitation of a gasping fish.

In the end, he did what he always did when stuck in a situation he wasn't sure how to handle. He fell back on his Turk training. One phrase trickled through his mind, a piece of advice given to him by Grisham himself. Simple, but appropriate. "If in doubt, improvise."

He quickly assessed his options. He could do what Linden would do and give a cheeky answer. No, that was definitely out – he couldn't pull off that style without sounding like an idiot. He could play it cool, detached. But that might scare her off again. He could ask her out… Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he hadn't had in years. Out of options.

He improvised.

From where he had sneaked back in unnoticed to check on any progress, Linden watched with a big grin on his face as Vincent Valentine, leader of the Turks, scourge of the underworld and highly paid assassin, leaned forward and kissed Lucrecia full on the lips.


	11. Chapter 11

Not for the first time in his life, Vincent cursed himself for being so damn tall. Under normal circumstances he didn't mind so much, but when it came to slithering through air vents, he was most definitely not in his element.

This particular vent was one that led directly into the heart of Mako Reactor number four, on the south side of the city. It was cramped, it was uncomfortable and sadly it was where he was stuck for the duration. Getting into it had been easy enough, a simple matter of opening the grille in the ceiling and swinging himself inside. Once there however, he found moving difficult and turning near on impossible.

On cue, his PHS emitted a soft beeping noise. He twisted slightly onto one side, attempting to free an arm enough to bend it back towards his pocket. In doing so, his elbow came into violent contact with the metal casing.

"Shit."

After a few moments more of elaborate contortionism, he located the offending device. Reversing the awkward procedure, he finally succeeded in bringing the cell phone up to his ear to answer it.

"What?"

The voice on the other end crackled briefly with static.

"We've got a problem." Preston didn't sound unduly concerned, more irritated, so Vincent saw no reason to start worrying yet. Besides, he was experienced enough to know that on every mission, nothing went exactly as planned and you had to be willing to adapt a bit. Generally, a plan lasted until the moment you got inside the door, so he was quite pleased with this one – forty minutes had passed before the first snag had arisen. That might even be a record...

"Which is?"

"There's more of the bastards than we thought, and they're further out that expected" Preston informed him. "I've taken out two in the Ops Room, but they've already trashed most of the equipment in here. Ran a few quick checks, and aside from the reactor core, they're holding up to the fifth level. Some bugger has locked out the door mechanism as well, so they're holed up good in there." Vincent frowned. Nothing that three Turks couldn't handle, but it meant more work on their part, and that would take up valuable time…

"Right" he acknowledged. "Is Linden in position?"

"Roger that. He's stationed at the level four intersection, waiting for the off."

"And you?"

"Ops Room still."

Vincent rolled his eyes. More work on _his_ part then. "We can override their lockout from the main Control Station. I'm closest so I'll detour. I want you and Linden to go ahead with the first phase as planned. We need to get the hostages out as soon as possible. Even if we can't get to the core yet, we can get those on the fourth out."

"Understood." The PHS blipped off, and once again Vincent went through the laborious (and painful) task of returning the blasted thing to his pocket. Taking a minute to get his bearings, he crawled off down the vent.

The call had come in earlier that afternoon. No matter what Shinra liked to think, his company's growing monopoly was not appreciated by all, and several dissident groups had sprung up of late. Many of these were instigated and funded by Shinra's principal rivals, not that they left much in the way of evidence to prove the fact. It had taken a lot of careful digging to establish the links between individuals, and even the Turks were finding it hard going to root them all out. Vincent's tag board had become increasingly complex, and reliable informants were dropping like flies. Black name labels were becoming something of a vogue.

Vincent and his colleagues had had to quell any number of uprisings over the past few months, and this seemed to be the culmination thus far. A terror group had infiltrated one of the prized Mako Reactors and shot their way through, gathering employees as hostages en route. One worker had valiantly escaped the attackers to reach a phone and raise the alarm. Once the HQ had been alerted, the Turks were dispatched immediately to deal with the situation in any way they saw fit.

There hadn't been much time to formulate a plan of attack. Preston collared a company chauffeur to drive the Turks car to the Reactor, while they sat in the back and talked strategy. An architect's sketch of the building provided them with a rough layout, which they memorised as far as was possible. Putting all his tactical knowledge to use, Vincent quickly established the best routes in, based on what the employee had relayed through over the phone before he'd been cut off. They knew roughly where the hostages were held, providing they hadn't been moved, and an estimate of the attackers and their weaponry. A lorry load of Shinra soldiers was ordered to provide a back up, but for the most part the Turks were going it alone.

oOo

The entrance to the maintenance shaft swung open, and Preston clambered inside, reaching out to pull the grille back into position behind him. Pulling out a screwdriver, he sealed the door shut once more. After all, should one of the attackers discover evidence of the Turks breaking in, then the game could be well and truly up. Bringing a mental image of the reactor plan to mind, he scurried off down the shaft. He had fared slightly better than Vincent, having been allocated a large maintenance pipe. Unlike the air vent that their leader now found himself in, these tubes had been designed to allow workers to move around the reactors and were relatively comfortable.

He was heading towards one of the Engineering Rooms, where a group of hostages were being held. The men they were dealing with were obviously not amateurs. Instead of keeping all the hostages in one place, they had divided them up amongst the attackers. The principle here was that if one group was attacked they could get word to the rest, who could then start shooting up remaining hostages. Preston had to admit it was the smart thing to do. It was certainly what the Turks would have done.

So somehow, they had to recover each group of Shinra workers without the attackers alerting anyone else. Just one terrorist could ruin the entire operation, so it was vital that things went according to plan. Preston patted his jacket pocket, just to re-assure himself that the device was still there. Just so.

He reached an intersection and headed right. Not too much further now. He flipped open his PHS and whispered into it.

"Linden, you ready?"

"And how, Preston my man." The other man's unmistakable voice fizzed back over the waves, just decipherable over the interference. Even the state of the art communication devices used by the Turks had trouble when surrounded by quite so much Mako. It was a wonder therefore that the terrorists' radios were working at all. In fact, this was what they were hoping to capitalise on.

"I'm just coming up to Engineering Three" Preston reported quietly to his colleague. He paused for a moment as he silently edged up to a vent. Peering through onto the room below, he saw a group of very scared looking Shinra employees, recognisable by their overalls. They were huddled together in a corner of the room, surrounded by masked men. The men all had guns or other weaponry. A rapid head count provided a terrorist tally. "Visual confirmation" Preston said, backing away from the grate. "We've got six men down here, and about ten hostages. I'm going to set the device off in five minutes."

Linden's chuckle was audible through the cell phone. "Hehe, then let's party."

oOo

Vincent finally emerged from his self imposed hell and into the Reactor's main Control Room. He was rather surprised that the attackers hadn't decided to hold onto the area, or even bothered to place guards. He guessed that by the time they had shepherded the workers into the core, they hadn't had time to come back up and were sitting pretty. Still, most of the other rooms they had been through had been trashed. On the course of his journey through the vent, he'd seen countless rooms where the delicate machinery had been smashed to pieces and riddled with bullets. In a way though, he considered this to be a good thing. They wouldn't have a limitless supply of ammo, and if they'd wasted precious bullets on computers then all the better.

Immediately he noticed a wall phone off the hook in the far side of the room. Walking over, he discovered that the employee who'd called Shinra had been made to pay for his bravery. A man's broken corpse was lying on the ground, partially hidden by desks. From the looks of him, he had been beaten with some kind of heavy object, possibly baseball bats, Vincent observed clinically. The attackers had been more than thorough too.

Stepping over the body, he searched the computer panels for a particular one. Locating it, he sat down at the station and quickly began typing some commands. He really would have liked Deacon to do this bit as the man was an unbelievably talented hacker, but in his absence he had to make do with his own knowledge. Thankfully Turk training covered this to a degree as well, and the security level clearance of the leader of the Turks was second to none. Instead of furtively rooting through the system, he used his personal codes to go straight in. Alright, so he was leaving a trail any halfwit geek could follow, but he was keeping his fingers crossed that the terrorists wouldn't be monitoring the computer sub-systems that heavily. And by the time they noticed anything was wrong it would be too late.

He noticed straight away that the emergency door locks to level five had been initiated. These locks were present on every floor in case of Mako leaks. Should an accident occur on one floor, then it could be sealed off while the rest were evacuated. What the terrorists had done was effectively cut the Reactor in two pieces, with themselves on the top. A bad tactical decision, in Vincent's opinion. Although this gave them control of the Reactor Core, it also severely limited their escape options.

Calling up an image of the Reactor layout on the adjacent monitor, Vincent decided on a plan of action. He activated the emergency locks on all the floors above the fifth and froze out the override using a standard Turk pass code. Should any of the other two need to access the system, they wouldn't have any trouble. Now that each batch of attackers was isolated, the three men could begin to break down the resistance.

He swiftly dialed Linden on the PHS.

"Boss?"

"Time to flush them out" Vincent said decisively. "I've shut down everything from the fifth upwards, so they can't get out. Now they're penned in and we can get right at them."

"Understood" answered Linden. "Preston is going to activate the field in about four minutes thirty."

Vincent nodded to himself. The magnetic field generator was a relatively new invention, courtesy of Weapons Development. They'd stumbled across the thing whilst researching for new methods of mass destruction. Although useless to them, the device was instantly snapped up by the Turks, who could see vast potential in it. The small generator was about the size of one of the cell phones, if a little heavier. When activated, it gave off a strong electromagnetic field, rendering the majority of electrical equipment dead for a short period of time. It didn't have a very wide range, but in the confines of a Reactor, it didn't have to. They estimated that the field would disrupt all communications equipment for about three floors, enough to stop the terrorists sounding an alarm. Of course the downside to this was that their own equipment would be immobilised at the same time.

"Then what are you hanging about for? Get your arse in gear." Vincent switched off the phone without waiting for a reply and headed out of the room. There was a larger access shaft nearby, and he had no intention of getting back into the air vent.

As he headed towards it, his phone rang again. "What this time?" he barked into it. He wedged the PHS between his shoulder and his ear while he opened the access door and started climbing in.

The voice on the end was not who he expected however.

"Valentine?" General Freeman. Vincent wondered why on earth he'd have called, especially in a situation like this. "New development. The terrorists are making ransom demands."

Vincent hooked his legs up into the rat run. "As expected, so what's the problem?"

"They're getting edgy. They know we're not just going to let them have it their own way, and they're going to start shooting soon."

"So what you're trying to say is 'get a move on'?"

The General coughed. Even he was intimidated by the leader of the Turks, and telling him to hurry up wasn't a preferred option. "Basically."

Vincent closed the grate behind him and loped off down the pipe, hunched over. Evidently the people who carried out engineering work in these things had to be about four and a half feet tall. "Then get of the damn phone and let me do my job" he snapped back. He decided that he would be better off crawling, so dropped to all fours, returning his phone to his pocket. Just as he did so, the infernal contraption rang for a third time.

"For fucks sake, can't any of you imbeciles cope for five minutes without pestering me?" he raged quietly.

The voice on the other end sounded a little taken aback, if not mildly amused. "Well" it said pointedly. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

He almost dropped the PHS. "_Lucrecia?_"


	12. Chapter 12

Preston stared hard at his watch as the hands ticked round. Two minutes to go. He looked back out at the ring of terrorists in the room below him. No change in the situation there. The hostages were obviously too petrified to stage any kind of resistance. Presumably they'd discovered first hand what happened to anyone who tried. He personally had seen at least ten bodies of former workers that the attackers had deemed it suitable to waste. Their orders were specific - recover as many hostages as possible alive, and remove the terrorists. All the Turks had noticed the omission of "dead or alive" on the end of that sentence. They had been authorised to use whatever means they thought necessary to achieve the objective. Vincent had added to this brief though. Considering the difficulties they had been encountering recently, he thought it was an ideal opportunity to try and squeeze some information out of anyone who happened to cross their paths. This opportunity should be seized wherever possible, although the subjects didn't have to be alive after they'd been questioned.

One minute thirty.

He tore his gaze off the scene below and fixed it on the metallic device in his hand, consciously working to calm his rising adrenalin.

Out of all the Turks, Preston was the one least used to this particular kind of operation, specialising as he did more in espionage and enemy infiltration. When there had been the need to place a spy inside the rank and file of Wutai, Preston was the Turk assigned to the job. He was less comfortable with this type of mission, not that he was in any way a liability. He simply felt that his talents were better directed elsewhere. This arena was more Linden's natural habitat, and Vincent's. Although the leader of the Turks proclaimed that he preferred outdoor missions on the streets, he was equally at home in close range situations.

Fifty seconds.

oOo

Linden was also keeping a close eye on the terrorists in the room, although from a different vantage point. He had come through via an alternate route, and reached a position on the opposite site of the area, on the same level.

"Forty three hippopotamus, forty two hippopotamus…"

He checked his gun as he counted down. A silencer had been fitted to the end, in preparation for the task ahead.

He peered out at the unsuspecting men. This was the moment that Turks lived for.

oOo

Vincent had managed to placate Lucrecia with the promise that she could call over to his apartment later that evening. For a brief moment he wondered what on earth had possessed him to give her that particular number. He made a mental note to request a second PHS for when he was on assignment.

Since Linden and Preston were dealing with the hostages on the fifth floor, Vincent had taken it upon himself to tackle the remaining ones in the floor above. He tracked his way through a particularly nasty corridor and up an access ladder to negate the emergency door locks. Although all the main doors were shut down, anyone who knew about these access shafts could still move around relatively unhindered. Now he thought about it, it was a major design flaw in the reactors, but for the time being, one which was to be exploited. He'd report the failings after the fact.

A small fizzing noise from the direction of his PHS indicated that Preston had activated the field generator. Indeed, glancing down he noticed that one of the lights was flashing red repeatedly, indicating the lack of a signal. By his calculations, Linden and Preston wouldn't give the terrorists much breathing space so as not to alarm anyone else in the vicinity.

Finally he arrived at his destination. The seventh floor of the Reactor was the one that housed the main core. Vincent was a little concerned that the terrorists had managed to make it this far inside without being stopped. Each Reactor had a handful of Shinra guards assigned to it, not to mention the numerous layers of security codes and systems. Somehow they had been able to get past all of them with little or no resistance. This nagged at his mind. Could it be an inside job?

That thought was worrying too, and not just because it was looking like a bigger possibility with each passing minute. The main issue was that if there had been a man on the inside, he would have had to be a fairly high ranking employee, to know how to get through the security checks. He didn't like that idea at all. He decided that should he discover an employee selling out, he would have to take fairly direct action.

Putting those thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being, he concentrated on the job in hand. There would be time for questions later.

Having reached the seventh floor, he now had to emerge from the secrecy of the vents and go out into the open. Far more dangerous, especially with so many enemies around him. He slid out of the grate and dropped lightly to the ground, having checked that the coast was clear. Quickly he looked up and down the corridor. Still empty. Most of the terrorists would be engaged in securing the core itself. From what they had seen so far, only a few guards had been posted round the perimeters.

Padding down the corridor he swiftly arrived at a new door. Creeping through, taking extra care not to let the metal make a noise, he immediately flattened himself against the wall. He was in one of the many control rooms scattered throughout the Reactor, and each one had a huge window on one side, overlooking the reactor itself. This particular window gave him an excellent view of a terrorist patrolling on the other side, but it would also give the attacker an unobstructed view of him if they happened to look in his direction.

Noticing that the main door out towards the terrorist was open, he ducked down and loped over to the window, as the man walked past. A quick check revealed that he was quite heavily armed. Vincent waited patiently for him to complete his circuit, to see if he was alone or in a group. In all, the man walked past three times before Vincent decided it was safe to act. Stalking up to the door, he positioned himself behind the opening and out of sight as the attacker went by.

The fourth time round, he was surprised to find an arm swiftly wrapped round him and over his mouth, pulling him into the side room with a cold metal object pointed at his head. Vincent flicked off the safety catch of his gun, which made the man cringe.

"Make a move for your weapon and I'll kill you where you stand" he advised the man softly, seeing the terrorist's fingers edging towards his hip. The roving hand stopped instantly, dropping to the man's side.

"Better. Now, are you going to co-operate or do I have to persuade you?" The man shook his head. He'd co-operate. "Good." Vincent slowly removed his hand from over the terrorist's mouth, while keeping the gun against his temple. "Who hired you?"

"I don't… don't know…" The revolver dug in slightly harder.

"Ack! Mister… Look, it was just another job, you know?"

"Alright, how about telling me how many of you there are round here?"

"Not many!" replied the terrorist hurriedly. "Just ten or twelve!" Vincent sighed wearily, and pulled the trigger, the silencer muffling any potential sound except a slight squelch as hot metal passed through the man's brain.

"Liar."

He didn't even bother to watch as the terrorist collapsed on the floor in front of him. He stepped over the body, and shut the door behind him, sealing the corpse inside and out of view. Whoever this guy was he obviously didn't know anything. Years of training had helped him learn to distinguish between people who were hiding something and those who genuinely had no idea. Just a couple of minutes had been enough to convince him that this terrorist was simply fodder. That was most likely the reason he'd been placed on simple guard duty.

Vincent set off in the direction the guard had come from, the direction of the core.

Five ex-guards later, he found himself deep inside enemy controlled territory. The terrorists were becoming more frequent and better trained. Not that any of them had posed a problem so far, certainly not for a skilled gunman like Vincent. He'd been able to get some information out of a few of them but nothing that was of particular help. It seemed that these people were mostly mercenaries, hired through third parties to do a job for a staggering amount of money.

He came across three more guards, stationed outside a large door. This large hallway lead to the entrance to the main core area, where the terrorists had set up their centre of operations. Vincent narrowed his eyes in contemplation. Hunching down behind a large metal pipe he strained to hear any snippets of conversation.

What he heard wasn't overly helpful. The men seemed tense, having lost radio contact with their colleagues, and were on a heightened alert. Oh well. He'd just have to dispose of them quickly.

Making sure the gun in his hand was fully loaded after his earlier encounters, he waited until one of the three guards wandered a little way off from the other two. The hallway was reasonably big, so he had some room to manoeuvre. Keeping one eye on the target and one on the rest of the guards, Vincent popped his arm round the side of the pipe and squeezed the trigger. Almost before the silenced shot had been fired, he was stealthily moving away.

The guard gave a brief gurgling noise, before crumpling to the floor in a heap, a gunshot wound straight through his forehead, bang between the eyes. A thin trail of blood trickled from the hole. His companions immediately swung round, guns trained on where the shot had originated from, but Vincent was long gone. He hid behind a computer panel as the two remaining men slowly advanced on his old position. One of them attempted to radio for help, but all he got over the airwaves was static. Cursing loudly, they began to investigate.

"Come out! We got you covered, Shinra scum!"

"Damn bastard must've escaped from downstairs… Hands in the air where we can see 'em!"

Evidently they thought they were looking for one of the hostages. Vincent smirked, they'd soon learn. Not that they'd live to remember of course. He took no real pleasure in the fact. Unlike some Turks, he did not enjoy killing. It was simply the job he did, and he was good at it.

Time for lesson number two. Moving himself into a position where the guards both had their backs to him (amateurs, he thought with derision), he used the equipment and tubing as camouflage to take his second shot. The nearest soldier dropped to the ground, felled by a bullet in exactly the same place as the first man, only from the back of the head. By now the last remaining terrorist was nervous - his eyes darted around the room and he kept shifting the aim of his gun, twisting and turning at every single noise.

Vincent crept round the edge of the room preparing to put this last man out of his misery. He had just lined up the shot when a side door banged open. The target jumped again, out of the line. He was lucky that the Turk hadn't been able to get the shot off. Doubly lucky in fact, since the new arrivals had a clear view of Vincent, thanks to a lack of obstacles on that side of the room. He suddenly found himself on the end of at least three shotgun barrels as men ran through the doorway.

"We've got him! Come out from there. Hands up, slowly!"

He paused a moment, thinking, before rising up from his position hands held just above his shoulders, his gun still firmly gripped. The men watched him warily, guns trained. There were five of them now, moving into better positions spread out round the room. They took in his blue suit and their hold on their weapons tightened. Even though the Turk was supremely outnumbered, they still feared him.

"You lot, surround him." One of the men gave directions to the rest. Evidently he had some kind of seniority amongst the group for everyone deferred to his orders. He gestured at Vincent with his weapon to the centre of the room. "And you! Out from behind that, now. Don't try anything!"

Vincent calmly stepped out from his shelter, into full view. It was all he could do not to shake his head at their ineptitude. If he'd been in the other mans' shoes, he'd have shot Vincent straight away.

"Drop the gun!"

He made no move to do so, instead just stood there.

"I said drop it!" There was the unmistakable sound of shotguns being readied. Vincent looked round at the men, fixing them with a cold hard stare before shrugging and dropping the revolver to the ground. It made a loud clanking sound as it connected, which startled the man he'd been aiming at earlier. The Turk gave an arrogant smirk as he saw the terrorist jump.

Satisfied for the moment, the leader of the small group looked at the man next to him. "Check out the rooms nearby" he demanded. "I want to know if there's any more of these buggers around." The attacker scurried off to do his bidding and Vincent inwardly cheered. That evened the odds out a bit in his favour. Admittedly this was not a situation he enjoyed being in, but four on one was better than five on one any day.

"What're you looking at?" he said back to Vincent, who was still wearing that derisive smile. "I know you didn't come here alone. Now we're just going to take this nice and easy, right boys? One of you, tie him up." There was much shuffling of feet. No-one seemed overly keen on the idea. "I said tie him up! I don't want no damn Turks running round! Markowitz, you do it!" The man singled out looked slightly green. "He's in no position to hurt ya! Get on with it!"

The man nervously shuffled over to the Turk, who didn't even bother to look at him. Vincent's gaze was firmly locked on the man making the commands, silently evaluating. Gaining some measure of confidence from the surrounding arsenal, the man Markowitz advanced more purposefully, sticking his gun in his belt and hauling out some tape. Still Vincent made no move. The man circled round behind him, ready to bind his hands out of reach. The terrorist in charge nodded. "Go on, do it."

Just as Markowitz freed both his hands to use the tape, the Turk exploded into action. Starting to move as if he were offering his wrists, he swiftly reversed the movement and applied a punch to the man's gut causing him to stagger. Anticipating the barrage of fire that this action was inevitably going to draw, he dropped down to the ground and into a roll to one side. As he did so his hands reached inside his jacket to the twin holsters he kept strapped to his chest, coming to rest with practiced ease on the two pistols within. Pulling them out in one fluid motion, he set the firing at the surrounding men. He felled one instantly (coincidentally, the man who had survived the first encounter) with a bullet through the heart. A second was taken out as the strafing fire continued. Coming up from his roll as the man in charge unleashed his shotgun he grabbed at the man he had punched who was still flailing around trying to get his gun and pulled him across.

A wail behind him as he moved for cover told him that the terrorist had been effectively used as a human shield. Dropping him once his usefulness had expired, Vincent ducked down out of sight. The sound of the shotgun ceased as the terrorist tried to work out whether any of his shots had hit home. Foolish move. A bullet shot straight through his eye before he could move two paces.

Standing up from his hiding place, Vincent surveyed the scene. All the men dealt with in a matter of minutes. He reloaded his pistols and brushed a speck of dust from his suit. They really shouldn't have fallen for that trick, it was one of the oldest in the book. There were too many discrepancies here for his liking. On one hand, the terrorists had shown resourcefulness and clever use of tactics, but on the other, the men he had encountered had been surprisingly easy to outfox.

He turned to head for the Reactor Core entrance, puzzled, mulling the conundrum over in his head. It could just be nothing, he knew, but gut instinct counted for a lot in this game, and right now it was telling him that something wasn't right. He just couldn't make the connection.

Suddenly his left hand snaked out, and the gun in it fired. There was a scream as a man plummeted from a stairway across the top of the room, landing on the ground with a sickening crash. The fall alone would have killed him, even had there not been a neat hole in his chest. Vincent eyed his handiwork with satisfaction. He thought he'd heard movement up there and his caution had been rewarded. Deciding that his work in this area was complete, he gripped the handle of the door, turning it to leave.

A clap sounded, ringing out against the silence of the room. Vincent spun round again, his sharp sense of hearing locating the source of the noise, and aiming his guns in that direction instantly. The noise continued, applauding. Mocking. Still, he could see no-one. His eyes narrowed as he tried to distinguish what was going on. He disliked being made a fool out of.

His gaze fixed on a point near the middle of the room, hidden by shadows. The fluorescent lights didn't quite reach into that corner. He trained his pistols on the point.

"Well, well… I must say that was quite impressive."

A voice floated out from the shadow, a voice that almost made the Turk drop his weapons in shock. Common sense and good training kept him from doing so, but even they couldn't stop the look of incomprehension from crossing his porcelain features.

Impossible. He gripped the pistols tighter, fingers twitching on the triggers, itching to squeeze, as he watched the figure of a tall man emerge from concealment.

He was wearing similar attire to the other mercenaries - heavy jackets, khaki trousers and assorted weaponry - so much so that nothing distinguished him from the others Vincent had killed. Except that he knew this man. And that this explained a lot.

"Grisham."


	13. Chapter 13

_Five years previously…_

A tall man dressed in a long black trench coat strode purposefully across the Junon University courtyard. He wore a fashionable pair of sunglasses that completely obscured his eyes, and the open coat revealed a smart grey suit underneath. His shoes were polished, and his brown hair was cropped reasonably short, with hints of grey at the temple. He walked with confidence, towards a group of graduates standing by a side building.

He could see the object of his attention leaning against the wall. The young man stood out from the others, even at this range. Although part of the cluster, he seemed to distance himself slightly from the others. Evidently listening to the discussion, he also seemed to be taking in everything else around him, including the stranger even now approaching him.

"Which one of you is Vincent Valentine?"

He asked the question, even though he already knew the answer. He'd been keeping a close eye on the boy for a year or so now, ever since he had first drawn his attention during a shooting tournament. He had taken a strangely personal interest in this one, and dug out all the background information possible. With his arsenal of knowledge, he would have recognised the youth regardless.

All attention in the group turned as one. The man in question pushed himself off the wall and drew himself up to his full height. The stranger was tall, but Vincent was easily able to look him straight in the eye.

"I am."

The stranger smiled casually. "Ah, good. Your tutor has asked me to speak with you, would you come with me for a moment? I won't take up too much of your time." He moved slightly away, beckoning.

Vincent shrugged, and the rest of the group watched as he walked towards the man before resuming their conversation. The two moved away from them and out of the courtyard before the stranger started talking once more.

"So… I understand you've just graduated."

"Yes."

"With honours too."

"Yes."

The man chuckled at the monosyllabic responses. "Not very forthcoming, are you? Given any thought to what you want to do with yourself now?"

Vincent gave a half-hearted shrug. "Some" he admitted. "But I'm not sure yet." He stared at the man walking beside him. "Why?"

"Like I said, your tutors asked me to speak with you. I represent a large company who are looking for new recruits, and think you might fit our requirements."

The youth nodded slowly. "What company?"

"All in good time" replied the suited man. His face broke into another smile as they reached one of the out buildings of the campus. "Ah, here we are."

Vincent looked around. "This is the firing range" he observed.

"Indeed it is" answered his companion. "I'm reliably informed that you are the rising star of the University Shooting Team, and I want you to show me your stuff."

The two went inside, Vincent leading the way in the familiar haunt. The man was right; he was by far the best member that the club possessed. On his arrival at University, he'd scouted around the various societies the campus had on offer, and this one had immediately caught his interest. His father, a weapons manufacturer from Icicle Village, had shown his son the rudimentary basics of the art, and allowed him to handle the guns he produced. He'd shown a certain natural flair and accuracy, and joining the Shooting Club had been a natural progression.

Since then his skill had been allowed to flourish. After three months, he'd made it onto the official team. After a year, he'd been made captain.

They stepped into one of the practice rooms and Vincent had begun to set up the equipment when the other man halted him. I'll do this bit" he said firmly. "No real test in letting you know what you're in for, is there?" He politely ushered Vincent out of the way, and his fingers flitted over the keypad.

The shooting training facilities were the height of new technology. Specially manufactured laser guns and computer generated targets. The targets would fly around the room, and disappear each time they were hit. The computer was able to register the accuracy of the gun fire, the shooters speed and reflexes and adjust the difficulty level accordingly.

Satisfied that the settings were to the correct standard, he picked up one of the laser guns. Looking at Vincent, he tossed it into the air. "Catch."

The young man reached out and snatched the weapon out of the air. The stranger noted the ease with which he executed the movement and the hand with which he caught it. "Right handed" he said aloud. "So shoot with your left please, if you will."

Vincent gave a questioning look, but remained silent, flipping the laser gun over to his other hand.

"And… begin."

The program initiated, and the room lit up with flying targets. The new arrival stood back as Vincent reacted to the sudden mayhem. He moved fast - impossibly fast - and it seemed to the watcher as if Vincent's attention was always just slightly ahead of his shot. He'd be firing at one target whilst acquiring and lining up the next. He stood at watched in approval as the dark haired student twisted and turned, eliminating the targets. A computerised beep sounded every time a shot connected.

After about thirty seconds, the room went silent. No more targets remained and Vincent stood in the middle of the room. The man had to admit to grudging admiration, the youngster was barely breathing heavily.

"Not bad."

Vincent looked taken aback. "Not bad?" he repeated. "That was the highest level, wasn't it?"

The man inclined his head in assent. "Actually" he confessed, "that was over the highest setting. I overrode the system and increased the difficulty." Wandering back over to the computer, he studied the readouts. One hundred percent accuracy. Not a single shot wasted, and with the left hand. Quietly impressed, he fixed his gaze on something at the far end of the building. "That light over there" he said, pointing it out. "Hit that for me. Right hand. And with this…"

Vincent's eyebrow shot up in alarm, as the man reached inside his coat and removed a small revolver, which he again tossed over.

"You sure?" asked the youth, eyeing the weapon with uncertainty. He stared up at the man in front of him. "If I break anything then…"

"Then I will pay for the damage" the stranger assured him. "Hit that light."

Vincent shrugged again nonchalantly, and without even looking, without bothering to aim, lifted his arm and pulled the trigger. A split second later, the light bulb exploded in a shower of glass.

"Are you going to tell me who you really are?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the stranger.

The man laughed softly, unfazed. "What makes you think I'm not what I say?"

Vincent frowned. "You wear a suit, but there's not many businessmen I know that wear shades indoors" he started. "You claimed my tutor sent you, but I'm pretty sure he would have told me if I was to expect someone. You ask me to shoot instead of asking about my studies. You carry a loaded gun on you. And you knew who I was." The man looked gave a querying look, as if to ask for further explanation. "When you asked which one of us was Vincent Valentine, you were looking straight at me. You already knew." Finished, he turned the gun towards the stranger. "Who are you?"

The man seemed unmoved by the fact that he now had a gun pointed at his chest, and instead wore a broad grin. "Well observed, young man" he said. "I'll level with you." He perched himself on the computer desk. "I was not sent by your University. But I do represent a large company who are interested in acquiring your talents." The man leaned forward. "The truth is I've been watching you for a long time, Vincent, and I think you have what it takes. What I'm offering you is dangerous, I won't lie about it. It's not a nice job, like most of your friends will be getting. It's not a safe job. But it's a job like no other in the world."

Vincent's frown deepened, as he started to put two and two together. "Shinra" he surmised. "You're from Shinra."

"To be more precise, I am from the Turks."

"The Turks?" Vincent couldn't hide his shock.

"Now" said the man calmly, "I don't want to pressure you, but I will need an answer soon."

"How soon?"

"About the next minute."

"What if I say no?"

Another grin crossed the stranger's face, but this time it was not nearly so casual. He somehow managed to couple the gesture with an air of menace. "Then I'll have to kill you." Vincent's grip on the gun in his hand tightened dramatically. "And I wouldn't try to threaten me with that, either" he said, indicating the gun trained on him. "I only put one bullet in that. This one however…" he removed a second revolver from his coat "…is fully loaded. Do we have a decision?"

Vincent threw his gun away in disgust. "Do I have a choice?" he retorted.

The man laughed again. "There is always a choice" he replied. "But sometimes the options aren't as nice as we'd like them to be."

"Then I accept."

"Good, good." The stranger returned his gun to his pocket and retrieved the weapon Vincent had discarded. "I knew you would anyway."

"How?"

"I told you, I've had my eye on you for a while. I know you better than you do." He held the gun out to Vincent and opened the chamber to show him. Inside were five more bullets, loaded and ready to fire. The younger man looked outraged.

"You lied to me!"

"Lesson number one" warned the stranger. "Never trust a Turk." He pocketed that gun as well, and gestured for Vincent to leave.

"Now will you tell me who you are?"

The man smiled. "Grisham" he replied. "Forlan Grisham. But you can just call me Sir."


	14. Chapter 14

"Long time no see, Vincent."

Grisham moved slowly forward, until he was fully bathed in the light of the room. He hadn't changed too much; a little more grey had edged its way into his brown hair, wrinkles creased his face where there had been none before and a long battle scar traced a path down the side of his right cheek. It ran from near his eye to just above the corner of his mouth, giving his expression a perpetual smirk.

The Turk stared long and hard at his former mentor. Both of his guns were gripped firmly in his hands, but he made no attempt to raise them yet. For the time being Grisham was unarmed, and there could still be some rational explanation for this whole situation. His mind threw up a range of potential scenarios from body doubles to a test devised by Shinra himself (a long shot, but he wouldn't have put it past the wily President), yet none of them quite seemed to answer all the questions going through his head. He was reasonably certain however, that the figure in front of him could fill in a lot of those holes, so it was in his best interests to talk first and shoot later.

The two men stood there for what seemed like an eternity, silently appraising each other. Eventually Vincent broke the deadlock.

"I suppose it's a cliché to say that I thought you were dead" he said grimly, still making no threatening moves and trying his best not to look too intimidating, a difficult task for the six foot plus Turk at the best of times. "You were supposed to have been killed on an assignment three years ago, and I don't believe in ghosts."

Grisham's mouth twitched upwards in a half smile, the scar accentuating the movement. "Observant as always" he commented dryly. "Rumours of my death are greatly exaggerated. As you can see with your own eyes, I am alive and well."

"For the time being." With every passing second, Vincent became more firmly convinced that although this was indeed his former employer, this was not some kind of test and that something was seriously amiss.

The ex Turk's smile didn't slip for a second, ignoring the implied threat. "And you" he went on smoothly. "Leader of the Turks yourself now, I see."

"You've been keeping an eye on me again, have you?" enquired Vincent, referring to the first time they'd ever met.

"As ever. What sort of a man would I be if I didn't take an interest in my protégé?"

"You're supposed to be a dead one."

Grisham nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah" he said roughly, "that's what Shinra wanted anyway." He studied Vincent's face, perhaps hoping his words would provoke some kind of reaction in his former pupil, but a blank visage stared back at him. Unfazed he carried on. "Osborn was supposed to finish me off, make it look like an accident. Luckily for me, I was able to persuade him otherwise."

Turks killing Turks? Under order of the President? Vincent was unsure of precisely what to make of this new development, but he was damn well not going to show it. "So what exactly are you trying to tell me?" he asked, carefully keeping any sign of emotion out of his voice.

"You were always observant Vincent, but you were naïve with it." Grisham shook his head in reprimand. "I found out too much for Shinra's liking, about what he was really up to. There was no way I could go public with it, we both knew that, but he thought I was a time bomb." Grisham stuck his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet. Vincent noted the movement warily, but continued to listen. "I thought I was safe if I kept quiet, but Shinra figured it'd be even safer with me out the way. He went to Osborn - turned out that he had a few skeletons in the closet, so was putty in Shinra's grubby little hand."

Vincent thought back to the Osborn he'd known, a man who'd grown up on the streets of Midgar and got to his position on the strength of guile, cunning and sheer brute force. He'd calmed down once he'd joined the Turks, and risen to become a respected member, but he supposed that if any of the group back then had a shady past to hide, it would have been Osborn. But the man had been so shocked when they'd been told that Grisham had died, he couldn't possibly… Could he?

"But like I said I was lucky. I found out about the plot before Osborn could take me out, and confronted him. He could have killed me there and then, but I came up with a plan whereby we could both get a good deal."

"You faked your own death." It was a statement rather than a question, and the only logical explanation. A part of him couldn't help but give a grudging respect to Grisham. How would he have reacted in the same position he wondered? Would he have had the nous to sniff out the plot and turn it in his favour? Of course, he had to consider, would he have got himself in that position in the first place?

"It fooled everyone. By burning the body in a fire, we were able to conceal the corpses' true identity. The doctors ran a DNA check to be certain, but Osborn substituted the samples for some of my own cells, so it came up as a perfect match. Osborn saved face and his job, I saved my life." Grisham assumed an expression of curiosity. "Whatever happened to him anyway?"

Vincent raised his eyebrow. "You don't know? I thought you'd been keeping tabs on us."

The former Turk smiled his crooked smile. "Just you. It's difficult enough for a dead man to enquire about one Turk let alone all of them."

"He was killed a year and a half ago, by Mak Xu."

Grisham tutted. "That bastard?" He rolled his eyes up to heaven. "Ah, he should have known better than that. Xu was always a slippery customer. "

"He too is now a dead man."

"Heh, serves him right. Wondered how long it would take for him to end up six feet under." The man rocked back on his heels. "Well, what do you say, it's almost like old times, eh?"

The leader of the Turks frowned. No, he wasn't going to drop his guard that easily. Even at just twenty six, he was a seasoned professional and it would take more than a little bit of reminiscing with a ghost to shake him. Not to say he wasn't concerned by what he was hearing. The waters were getting muddier by the second and corruption within the ranks was bubbling to the surface. But he refused to let these concerns interfere with him – instead, he did what he did with all the feelings he had no desire to deal with. Bundled them up and shoved them to the back of his mind. Just because the new development was something personal to him, was no reason to allow himself to lose focus or be influenced by it. The response was so immediate as to be second nature. If his brain had allowed him to be worried, it might have spent a few moments dwelling on just how easy it was becoming to suppress his feelings.

He decided to steer the conversation back on to a more relevant topic. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "I'm sure you didn't come here to start waxing lyrical about the good old days?"

Grisham's smile vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived. "You've come a long way" he said solemnly. "When I first saw you I reckoned you'd become one of the best Turks we'd ever seen, and I think I was right." He withdrew his hands from his pockets, and Vincent saw with a sinking feeling that one of them now held an exquisitely crafted revolver.

_Damn_. He could see where this was going.

"You're right" Grisham confirmed. "I'm not here for pleasure, its business. I'm here because I've been paid to be here. On account of my knowledge." He tapped at his temple with his free hand. "Turns out that this ex-Turk has quite a bit of valuable information up here, for those who can afford it, that is."

"You sold out for _money_?"

The dead man waved his revolver negligently. "My soul to Shinra, my knowledge to money" he replied. "When you've been off the radar as long as I have there is little else that matters, aside from revenge. Then I found myself in the enviable position of being able to stick two fingers up at old man Shinra, and get enough cash to ensure my 'death' is an extremely long and happy one."

This was starting to make a bit more sense now, even if the motives involved struck Vincent as being remarkably... petty. He knew for a fact that there were men out there that would pay a fortune (or indeed kill) for the kind of data a Turk had access to. Shinra had numerous enemies, and any one of them would love to get their hands on this kind of information. He was able to narrow it down to a potential three though, as only a select few would have funds enough to throw around. If Grisham had sold company secrets to one of them, that explained how the terrorists were able to gain access to the Reactor so quickly and efficiently.

"And the others?" Vincent enquired, indicating the pile of corpses with his head.

"Disposable" answered Grisham nonchalantly. "Hired off the streets by a third party, just to cause a bit of damage as a message to the mighty Shinra." He turned his gaze to the bodies littering the floor. "I must say I'm impressed with the way you dealt with this rabble."

Vincent saw Grisham's finger sneaking nearer the trigger on his gun. Just the smallest motion, but enough to make him consciously relax the muscles in his own arms, ready to move if the need arose. He could tell that Grisham was trying to unnerve him, leave him open and exposed. It was what he himself would be doing if their roles were reversed. Perhaps if he went along with it… "And now you're going to have to deal with me?" he asked rhetorically.

"Maybe yes, maybe no. You see, I'm offering you a choice."

The leader of the Turks gave a smirk of his own, letting Grisham see cracks in the armour. "A choice?" he said mockingly. "Would this be anything like the choice you offered me five years ago?" Grisham didn't reply, just stood there. "Let me guess, join you or die."

"I work for a very powerful man, Vincent" the ex leader said persuasively. "Shinra won't last forever and you won't want to be where you are when the fallout hits." He took a few steps forward. "I can stop that happening..." His gun arm moved, fixed on the man in front of him.

Now Vincent did react; one of his guns was level with Grisham's chest in an instant. Neither man pulled the trigger; pupil nor master could quite bring themselves to end the other's life.

"You forgot what I told you when we met" Grisham chided. "I know you better than you know yourself. You can't shoot me. You joined me then and you'll join me now. Wutai will crush Shinra! Get out now, before it's too late! I'm giving you the choice."

Vincent shook his head slowly. "You've given me enough already" he said. Indeed, Grisham's last statement concerning Wutai had quickly narrowed down the choice of financial backer to one man and one man alone. He had all the information he needed.

"What?"

"You never had any intention of letting me leave here alive" Vincent reasoned. "You knew that Shinra would send the Turks in to deal with this job, and you knew that would mean me."

Grisham feigned shock. "Never! I mean this Vincent" he wheedled. "You know you can't bring yourself to shoot. I am offering you the chance to stay alive. Take it! Wasn't I like a father to you? You know you can trust me…"

His finger pressed against the trigger of his gun, but Vincent was the faster. The look of hurt upon Grisham's face twisted into one of determination, then pain. His eyes lost their focus, but they never left the Turk in front of him, even as he sank to his knees.

Vincent watched passively as his mentor, the man who had spent years looking over him, guarding his back, coaching him in the skills he had today, collapsed slowly to the ground. A hand clutched spasmodically at a bullet wound straight through the heart.

Grisham's own gun fell from a limp hand, clattering on the floor, and he stared up at Vincent, confused. He seemed unable to reconcile the act with the young man he used to know. His breath came in ragged gasps, rattling through lungs rapidly filling with blood. A thin red trickle oozed from the corner of his mouth, as he opened it in one last attempt.

"Wh… Why?"

His body gave up trying to support his weight, and he fell back onto the hard metal floor. Vincent stood towering over him, stony faced, gun barrel still smoking.

"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought" he said simply. "Didn't you remember what you said to me? Never trust a Turk."

He stood there, not moving while Grisham's laboured breaths grew more infrequent. His eyes glazed over, the light in them dimming. He never said another word.

And Vincent felt nothing.


	15. Chapter 15

The rest of the operation went, if not like clockwork, then at least as well as could be expected. There was an old Turk saying along the lines of 'chop off the head and the body soon dies' which certainly proved true in this instance. Once Grisham, the man giving the orders, had been disposed of then sure enough, the other terrorists swiftly capitulated under renewed pressure from the men in blue.

Preston and Linden had freed the first group of hostages, sending them off down the maintenance tunnels where members of the Shinra armed forces were waiting to usher them to safety. The second set had proved slightly more difficult, due to the sheer number of terrorists and the proximity of vital Mako pipes. Not even the attackers really wanted to burst those, since they would have inflicted a severe dose of Mako poisoning on everyone in the vicinity. The mercenaries loyalty did not appear to extend as far as making themselves martyrs to the cause.

The remaining Turks hadn't had an easy time of it, considering the intruders to Turk ratio and their closeness to the captured employees - one of the hostages had received a nasty wound in the arm whilst running round like a headless chicken -but thankfully they had been saved by the timely arrival of their leader. Vincent had had a fairly clear run after his encounter with Grisham and had burst in on the battle just as Preston and Linden were being slowly but inevitably backed into a corner. His entrance tipped the scales back in favour of the Turks. Indeed, he had neatly taken out three of the men before the terrorists even realised that they had another problem to contend with.

A few of the attackers found themselves in the unenviable position of being detained and taken back to the Shinra Headquarters for interrogation. Again, these unfortunate few were turned over to the soldiers for escort, to be dealt with later.

The Turks themselves left the scene once the hostages had been recovered safely. They had fulfilled their tasks admirably, so the armed forces could take care of the clean up operation. None of them particularly felt like immediately returning to the HQ after the afternoon's events, so Linden made the executive decision to descend on Vincent's apartment.

Upon arriving, Linden's first act was to kick off his shoes and plant himself firmly in front of the TV. Placing his feet up on a coffee table, he reached for the remote control. "I need food" he stated. "After that little workout I have to replenish my energy." His jacket soon found itself spread over the floor. A tie floated through the air to land on an ornament.

"So you're going to sit there and vegetate?" Preston snorted at his colleague while he hunted for the phone. "How about pizza? Is everyone up for pizza?" Linden raised an arm in acknowledgement. "Boss?"

Vincent wasn't listening. He was perched on a stool in the kitchen area, chin resting in the palm of his hand, staring at the coffee machine. Not that the miracle of caffeine dispensing was on his mind at the moment. He was more concerned with the events of the past few hours, one incident in particular.

As the man in command of the Turks, it was his duty to compile reports on all the operations they undertook, for the President's perusal. He found himself in a quandary. Grisham's rise from the dead was a wild card - as far as Shinra was aware, the man had been disposed of years ago. But once Vincent revealed that he had faked the hit and that another member of the Turks had acted as an accomplice, who could predict what the reaction would be?

He was bound to tell the truth and nothing but the truth to his employer, and morally he knew that he should impart this information as well. There was still one nagging part of his brain though that refused to accept this, knowing the uproar the news would cause. The crime had been confined to just the two men, but would anyone else be implicated? Was Grisham's story even true? He himself had only been the youngest member at the time his mentor had 'died', but would Shinra think he had been involved?

But if he did conceal the truth, what then? Hassle was saved in the short term, but what if the President found out at a later date? The mercenaries' bodies could be dumped, but what if they decided to run tests on them and the duplicity was discovered?

His eyebrows tightened in a frown. There was also another matter trying to bother him, but that was one that was even more unwilling to acknowledge…

"Boss?"

Vincent looked up to find Preston a few feet away. "Hmmm?

"Maybe you should drink some of that coffee instead of trying to out-stare it" the other man suggested. Vincent sighed. They were technically off duty, so he was prepared to let the sarcasm go. "You want pizza? We're about to order."

"No, I'm not really hungry" he lied, watching Preston head off to the phone, and Linden spreading out over the sofa. He frowned at the scene playing out. "You two have been in my apartment for ten minutes" he remonstrated, "and already you have turned it into a war zone." Looking round the room, he took in the damage inflicted by his subordinates. "Whose tie is that over my Hotohori?"

Linden looked up from his seat guiltily. "Your Hoto-what-a-hi?"

"Shinji Hotohori, a famous Wutaian artist. Now please get your tie off his sculpture, it's priceless." Vincent watched like a hawk as the offending item was taken off the piece and unceremoniously dumped on the floor. He resisted the urge to sigh again. "You know, the first time I saw your place I wondered how on earth it was possible for a man to be so untidy. Now I think I understand."

Preston hung up the phone. "Two pizzas on their way, one with extra pepperoni" he announced. "Set the clock this instant. If they take more than half an hour we get it for free."

"Why are you bothering?" enquired Linden, not taking his eyes off the TV screen. "Vincent's paying."

This was news to the man concerned. "I am?" He decided that now would in fact be an ideal time for coffee. "Why am I paying when I'm not even eating?"

"Because you are entertaining two Turks who performed above and beyond the call of duty" explained Preston proudly. "All hostages accounted for, all terrorists eliminated or captured and mission accomplished. You didn't have to do any of that, so the least you could do is buy us pizza."

Vincent acquiesced with a wave of his hand before flicking on the coffee machine. He hadn't told the two Turks about his problems; there were some things that were best kept under wraps for the time being. Linden had never known Grisham, having joined the group after his supposed death. But Preston had though, having also been handpicked by the former leader in a similar way that Vincent had been. He'd known the man for longer too. If Grisham was telling the truth, then could Preston have been in on it as well? He sat there and looked at the two Turks, one of whom was engrossed in the TV show, the other was rooting through his fridge. Questions, questions, questions, and so far not enough bloody answers.

"Got any beers?"

Preston's head emerged from the fridge long enough to ask the question before diving back inside.

The leader of the Turks slid off the stool and mooched over to check. "I thought you'd drunk me dry last time" he observed pointedly. Peering inside, he managed to locate a fresh four pack, buried at the rear and passed them out. "You would appear to be in luck."

"Now that's what I wanted to hear" Preston exclaimed, taking the offered cans and bounding back over to Linden on the sofa. "Attention! We have alcohol!" A whoop from the seated man indicated his pleasure at the revelation.

Vincent couldn't help but roll his eyes as he closed the fridge door. Wandering over to the others, he eased himself into one of the armchairs. "What are we watching?"

"Linden's choice. When Animals Go Bad."

"Three."

Shaking his head, Vincent sank back into the chair. "Where do they get these things from?" he wondered aloud. "Isn't there anything better on?"

Linden dismissed the possibility. "Nope, and I have the power" he proclaimed loudly, waving the remote control with one hand. "Of course if I'd known we were gonna crash here then I would have brought my video collection with me…"

"We're probably better off without that" said Vincent firmly, nipping this particular suggestion in the bud. "I know what sort of videos you've got."

"Nothing wrong with a little adult TV" Linden replied.

"No, but why do you insist on watching it with everyone else?" the leader of the Turks asked looking around, hoping for backup on the point. "Isn't that vaguely perverted or something?"

Preston looked up from his beer. "He's got a point you know" he agreed. "If you're going to watch porn you don't want to do it with your mates around, do you? I personally have no wish to see you jac…"

Vincent zoned out their conversation, since more pressing matters were weighing on his mind. He had reached the decision that the President was going to have to be informed of Grisham's reappearance, there was no way he could get out of that. However, he was planning to opt out of writing it in the official report. If he told Shinra directly, he could at least try and forestall any awkward lines of questioning that might arise. That only left the problem of how to phrase it…

He was drawn out of his contemplation by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

Linden was surprisingly the first to react. "Pizza!" he cried, practically leaping over the back of the sofa to run to the door, pulling it wide open. "About bloody time, it's been…" He trailed off.

"Hello Linden. You were expecting someone else, I take it?"

Vincent's head snapped up. That wasn't the voice of a delivery boy. "Lucrecia!"

What time was it? She hadn't been due over until later… A quick glance at a clock showed that it was much later than he had thought. He jumped from his seat and dashed over to the door, pushing Linden out of the way in the process. "Sorry, didn't realise the time" he apologised. "Here, let me take your coat… There's coffee in the kitchen if you want it too…"

Linden slowly meandered away from the door, grinning. It wasn't often he got to see his boss reduced to acting like a nervous fifteen year old, and he wanted to savour the moment. "Don't suppose you brought a lady friend with you?" he asked lightly. "You've promised to set me up with one of those Science chicks…"

Lucrecia slipped off her coat as she stepped inside, letting Vincent take it off her hands and hang it up. Closing the door behind her, she smiled at the roguish Turk.

"'Fraid not" she answered with a chuckle. "For some reason they all think you're a terrible womaniser."

"I am not. I am a gentleman."

"Liar." Preston and Vincent looked at each other as they spoke simultaneously. Caught in the middle, Linden held up his hands in mock defeat.

"Stooges" he complained. " I can't win. Anyway, nice to see you again Lucrecia."

The scientist inclined her head in response. "You too." Ever since she had started seeing Vincent on a regular basis, she had become more accustomed to the men who formed the Turks. Having met Linden (admittedly under slightly unusual circumstances), she had been forced to re-evaluate her opinions. Being introduced to Preston and Deacon had hammered the point home. She couldn't deny that they were certainly a formidable force, but she had seen them off duty as well as on, and had been surprised at the difference.

She noticed it in Vincent the most. Putting aside the fact that to all intents and purposes he was an intimidating presence regardless, it was almost as if he had two faces; one for while he was on duty, another when he was off it. When he was in his 'Turk mode' as she put it, he scared the hell out everyone he so much as looked at, herself included. She wouldn't have been surprised if even the President thought twice about arguing with him. His handsome face could have been etched in marble for all the emotion it showed. There was also no getting away from the fact that he killed for a living, should the need arise. He was a dangerous man.

But then when he was with her, a whole new side of his personality emerged. He let the barriers drop a little. Vincent didn't smile often, but when he did it changed his face completely. She wished he would do it more often.

She looked around at the apartment, amazed at the mess that was already beginning to pile up. "Planning a lads night in?" she enquired of the two now seated Turks, before moving over to the kitchen to pour herself a drink.

Their replies of "yes" were drowned out by a very firm "no" from Vincent. They turned to protest, but the leader of the Turks was having none of it. "I'm not letting you wreck my house again" he said decisively. "Go to the bar instead."

Linden smirked. "You want us out of here because you're worried about your apartment?" he asked incredulously. "I don't think so." This was accompanied by an exaggerated look over in Lucrecia's direction, which thankfully the scientist missed.

"And what about our pizza?" chimed in Preston. "It'll be here any minute and we wouldn't want it to go to waste. How about we hang around long enough to pick that up, then we can…"

Vincent stalked over to his two colleagues "Look" he hissed quietly so Lucrecia wouldn't hear, "I'm not going to ask nicely, I'm not going to bribe you, I'm just going to tell you. Scram. Scoot. Get lost. Just get out of my apartment!"

Preston and Linden exchanged knowing looks. "Come on" said the latter. "I think the boss wants to interrogate his girlfriend, if you know what I mean."

"And our dinner?"

"You can lurk around the building's front door till he turns up" conceded Vincent. "Honestly! What do I have to do to get some privacy round here?"


	16. Chapter 16

In the kitchen, Lucrecia watched in mild amusement as Vincent ushered his two Turks out the front door amid much protestation. They called out their goodbyes to her, which she returned with a wave and a smile. Finally managing to get rid of the dynamic duo, he slammed the door shut and leaned back against it in relief.

"Odin, give me strength…"

She chuckled lightly and walked over to him, holding two cups of fresh coffee. "You look like could use one of these" she said, passing him a mug. "You're beginning to sound like a mother hen."

Vincent took the steaming cup gratefully. "Don't you start on that line as well" he warned as he drank. "It's been a very long day. Ouch, this is hot."

The scientist wandered over to the sofa and sat down, while Vincent followed behind. She took a more cautious sip from her own mug. "That's because it's just been made. But you did seem a little tense on the phone earlier."

Lucrecia watched him as he joined her in front of the TV. Vincent's moods were imperceptible to most observers, but she could tell he was brooding over something. It was always difficult to read what he was thinking, since he seemed so used to concealing his emotions. Dwelling on it made her a little sad; how he walled himself off from the world so easily. But she had learned a few of the minute telltale signs that could be used to gauge his mood. A very slight frown pulling his eyebrows just that tiny bit closer meant that there was definitely something on his mind.

"Sorry" he apologised with a sigh. "It was a bad time. I defy anyone to try and keep all those Turks in order without getting a little tense now and again."

Although still cagey about the nature of his work, Lucrecia had to admit he had become a lot more open about it recently, at least comparatively speaking, as open for the Turk was still tight as a clamshell for just about anyone else. Vincent himself wasn't sure how this particular development had happened - even around a man like Professor Gast whom he had known for years, he was still reluctant to disclose anything remotely connected to his profession. But with Lucrecia he found himself actually talking about things. And the more he thought about this, turning it over and over in his mind, the less he understood it.

Lucrecia nodded. "It must be difficult" she empathised.

"It can be. I know they can handle themselves, but in the end they're my responsibility" Vincent explained. "We're all grown men, but Linden isn't the most sensible of people at the best of times and Preston is thirty-one going on sixteen. Deacon… Deacon is probably the most level headed of the lot, but even he has his moments. Half the time they don't listen, or change their minds in the middle of an assignment. And when you have to keep them all alive in a situation like today…"

It both amused and amazed her how one man could go from practically monosyllabic to full flow speech with no apparent effort. When she had spoken to him on the phone, he had tersely explained that he was in the middle of a mission and not given any of the details. Now, she put two and two together to work out exactly what he was referring to. "The Reactor" she realised. "Gast told us about that earlier, he had some students over there…"

"Yes."

She waited for him to elaborate slightly but he fell stonily silent, eyes downcast staring into his drink. Evidently he wasn't feeling particularly forthcoming about this one, as the walls had slammed up and he was back to the one word answers again.

"What happened?"

Vincent waited a long time before replying. "I killed someone."

She wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement. Rationally she knew that this would not have been the first time he had been called upon to perform this kind of task, but why would it bother the leader of the Turks now? She wasn't party to the specifics of the situation, but she knew that several Shinra employees were held hostage at gunpoint and others killed when the terrorists initially stormed the Reactor. The Turks had managed to get all the staff out to safety, so while she wouldn't go so far as to necessarily call them glorious heroes, she was unable to grasp why Vincent seemed so gloomy.

"Should I be telling you off for this or congratulating you for saving all those people?"

Her attempt at lightening the tone fell on deaf ears. "The man I killed died three years ago."

Now he really had her confused. "So you're telling me that you killed a man who was already dead?" She frowned before looking up. "You do realise this makes no sense, don't you?"

She watched Vincent play with his cup. "He was supposed to have been killed in action, but he was there at the Reactor. He said that it was part of a cover up, that Shinra ordered his death and the Turks covered it up…"

Lucrecia's frown deepened. Evidently this was the something that was troubling him. "Three years ago? You were still a Turk back then?" she asked gently.

"Yes" he acknowledged. "I was the youngest. He was the leader, the one who recruited me. And I had to kill him." He didn't add the rest of his thoughts. 'I had to kill him and I didn't feel a damn thing'. That almost worried him. Despite the fact that it was what he had been trained to do and was exactly what should be expected of him, he thought that he would have felt a scrap of pity, anger, _something_, for the man who had been like a surrogate father to him since he joined the group. But no. Nothing.

The scientist gritted her teeth to enquire further. "Why did you kill him?" she said firmly, not enjoying pursuing this line of questioning. Although she had reconciled herself to some of the things Turks did, she still wasn't completely comfortable discussing them. "Was it an accident? Or did you mean to? Did he just get in your way or…"

"It was self defence" he interrupted smoothly. "He held me at gunpoint and tried to make me join him. If I refused he would have killed me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I know him, he was a Turk." And because it was what I would have done in his place, he added in the privacy of his own mind. "I looked up to him, almost like he was my father. I guess he was for a while."

The scientist couldn't help but seize on that piece of information. Vincent was also notoriously reluctant to talk about his background. "What about your own family?" she asked. "Didn't they…"

Vincent shook his head. "They died when I was eighteen" he explained. "They were on a ship to Wutai when it sank and no-one survived."

Lucrecia looked apologetic. "I'm sorry" she said, "I didn't realise…"

"It's alright. It happened a long time ago now, and there's nothing I can do about it." He took another sip of his coffee. "It's a similar story for all of the Turks really."

"It is?"

He nodded. "Preston's parents died of natural causes but then he is older than the rest of us. Deacon's father is still alive but he doesn't know where, and Linden never even knew his." He pondered the similarities between them. "Shinra prefers it that way" he concluded. "It's something… an old Turk once told me."

That Turk had in fact been none other than Grisham himself; though Vincent was reluctant to mention the name at this particular time.

Lucrecia's face held an expression of puzzlement. "I can't see the point in that" she commented. "It's very bizarre."

Vincent didn't answer. Unlike the scientist, he could see the sense behind the argument. Grisham had put it the best though. "Family is a weakness. A man with a family will play it cautiously and if something goes wrong you can't count on him to put his life on the line to take a risk. But a man with no ties has nothing to lose." So it was that all of the Turks were men with minimal or no emotional attachments. It wasn't exactly a requirement for the job, but more often than not it transpired that the best candidates fit that category.

He shook off that line of thought as it was taking him in a direction he didn't really want to go in right now. Instead, he decided to change the topic of conversation to something he was more comfortable with.

"Anyway" he said, "I'm sure you don't want to hear about us. I was going to ask you how your project is going. I haven't had a chance to speak to Professor Gast for a while about his Mako experiments, and I know you're on that too…"

Her eyes lit up as they always seemed to when discussing her work. "You mean the SOLDIER Project? It's speeding ahead. We never thought we'd achieve so much in such a short space of time, it's incredible!" Vincent couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. He derived no real pleasure from his own employment, it was simply what he did and was best at. Idly he wondered what it must be like to have a job that you enjoyed doing. "Preliminary tests indicated that none of the men reacted badly in any way, the Mako just increased their strength and ability. The only side effect was that the infusions made their eyes glow."

Vincent cast his mind back to the day Professor Gast had shown him the little white lab mouse with the same distinguishing feature. "Now that is what I'd class as bizarre" he said with a wry smile. "For all these years we've been paranoid about Mako poisoning, and then you find it's actually good for you."

"Only in very small doses" she chuckled. "Too much Mako will still give you the mother of all hangovers." Vincent smiled along with her. He could never remain distracted for too long around Lucrecia, she had a way of making all the troubles in his world disappear. He knew he ought to be worried about this blurring of focus, but somehow she made that niggle vanish as well. Just looking at her seemed to make him forget most things. She had probably come straight from the lab, since she was wearing her hair up still. He noticed a few wisps of her hair had slipped from her hurried bun, and without thinking, he reached over to push them back for her. He loved the colour, not quite brown, not quite auburn but somewhere in between…

Lucrecia watched him as he played with her hair in apparent fascination, twisting it round his fingers, and wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing. Smiling, she reached up with her own hand to touch his. He had unusual hands for a man. Instead of being thick set, they were slender, with long, tapered fingers. During her internship in hospitals, she had dealt with a few injured gunmen, and the one thing they had in common was that the weapon hand was hard and calloused. Vincent's were unexpectedly soft; she had learned that he tended to wear gloves during his working hours.

Noticing the touch Vincent started to move away apologetically, thinking she disliked having her hair toyed with but she stopped him, keeping hold of his hand. Looking up, he found himself falling into her gaze, her beautiful eyes...

Leaning forward, he kissed her gently. She returned the gesture with a surprising amount of passion. Breaking away, they sat for what seemed like an eternity without speaking, only inches apart, before coming together again. This time, they didn't stop.

They didn't speak again for a long time.


	17. Chapter 17

To say that Vincent mellowed over the next few months wouldn't be entirely accurate. Although the introduction of the petite scientist into his life had indeed seemed to open up a whole new side to the leader of the Turks, on duty he seemed to have become even more ruthless than ever.

This may of course have had something to do with an incident once again involving the unfortunate Elton Sullivan. Having been content to lay low after his last run-in with the Turks, eventually he had recuperated enough to decide that he wanted a taste of revenge and that the man who'd inflicted a large amount of physical harm to his person was the target.

He hired a succession of hit men to try and eliminate the Turk, all of whom failed. Only one ever made it back to Sullivan's office alive enough to give a report, and even then he'd only managed to get halfway through before expiring in a messy heap on the floor.

Sullivan made his next major mistake with his fourth (and it turned out to be final) effort, when he employed a man who just happened to be firmly in Vincent's pocket. The Turk underground network was extensive, far greater than was generally accepted, so a simple game of numbers meant it was only a matter of time before Sullivan made contact with one of them. Upon receiving his assignment, the man had pocketed the money and come running to Shinra, knowing full well which side of the fence he preferred to be on.

For his part, Vincent was used to attempts on his life. Ever since he'd joined the group, it had been an accepted risk, though more so for the man in command. Turks simply didn't die peacefully in their beds (there was an incident where one had died in someone _elses_, but they refused to talk about that). By staying alert, honing his senses and varying his routines, he'd made it as difficult as humanly possible for a would-be killer to predict his movements and finish him off. There had been a few close calls over the years and he'd got the scars to show for the near-misses, but so far he'd outwitted every potential assassin sent after him.

Normally he remained relatively unconcerned with the attacks, but he'd noticed the sudden spate of interest in his untimely demise, and decided to root out what was going on. It was possible that all the hit men were working for different people, but his professional logic highly doubted it. Evidently someone wanted him dead. More than usual, anyway. He had just started to put out feelers when knife-for-hire Korey Laine made contact and divulged the perpetrator, effectively solving the mystery in one fell swoop.

From that moment on, Elton Sullivan was a marked man.

Resisting the urge to act on impulse and simply shoot the man on the spot, Vincent decided that he was going to have to put a stop to this once and for all. Continuing his own schedule uninterrupted so as to avoid suspicion, he sent a newly recovered Deacon out on surveillance, to study the movements and habits of the target. Arrogantly self-assured, the double dealing businessman took few precautions with regard to his personal information, certainly nothing that a well trained Turk couldn't circumnavigate.

He had acquired a small squad of bouncers to ensure his own safety, hurriedly employed after his last brush with Vincent. A little careful probing by Deacon revealed their identities, and he was confident that whilst they had all the look of professionals, they were in fact of minimal worry. Still, they were another factor to take into account.

A week after starting his new campaign, Vincent found the opening he was looking for. His own grasses had also been set to work furtively hunting for information, and one of them came up trumps. Sullivan had organised a get-together for himself and his business partners in two days time, the perfect opportunity for a little lesson in manners.

oOo

"I'd like to see Mr Sullivan, please."

The building's receptionist glanced up from her paperwork at the tall businessman standing in front of the desk. "Do you have an appointment?" she enquired, in clipped tones.

"No."

She gave a small sigh. "Then I'm afraid Mr Sullivan won't be able to see you. He doesn't see anyone without an appointment. Good day."

Her gaze returned firmly to her work, effectively dismissing the new arrival. She carried on for a few minutes before she noticed that the man was still standing at the desk, and hadn't moved so much as a muscle. This time her sigh was louder, more irritable. "I said that Mr Sullivan won't see you unless you have an appointment" she reiterated. "I can make one for you, but it would be for sometime next week." Leaning over to one side, the woman pulled out a folder and opened it.

The man shook his head slightly as she flicked through the pages. "I don't want an appointment" he said calmly, "I want to see Mr Sullivan. Now please." He looked around quickly, taking in the entrance hall. This late in the evening, most of the employees had gone home, and the reception was deserted save for the woman behind the desk and himself.

Running a well manicured finger down a page in the file, the receptionist tapped at a free space. "I can fit you in at 3pm next Friday" she said, pointedly ignoring his repeated request. "There's nothing earlier than that, he's a very busy man." Picking up a pen, her hand hovered over the gap in the calendar. "I'll pencil you in shall I, Mr…?"

"Valentine. Vincent Valentine."

The strange feeling of cold metal pressed against her forehead made her look upwards, and the sickening sound of a safety catch being released confirmed her worst fears.

Vincent coolly regarded her, staring down the barrel of his revolver. "They say third time's the charm" he said flatly. "Do I have to ask again?"

The woman shook her head. It was now beginning to sink in that the businessman in front of her wasn't quite what she expected. The name clinched it, if nothing else. There couldn't be two Vincent Valentine's in the world, certainly there was only one that would hold you at gunpoint over not having made an appointment.

"Good. Now, where can I find Sullivan?"

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his implacable stare. "Up… Up on the fifth floor… His office" she stammered. "He's in an… important meeting…"

None of this was new information to the leader of the Turks. "I know" he stated. "My invitation got lost in the post." He almost twitched a smile at that, but the humour was evidently lost on the receptionist, who by now was a rather fetching shade of green. "Now go home. I don't think Sullivan will be in a position to object to your having the night off."

He inclined his head in the direction of the door, though the gun remained firmly in place. Swallowing nervously, the receptionist plucked her handbag from the desk and backed out from behind it. All the time keeping an eye on the weapon that followed her every move. Scurrying the last few metres, she flew out the door, which closed with a bang.

As soon as she was outside, Vincent exchanged the gun in his hand for a PHS and quickly dialled whilst walking towards the lift. "Deacon?" he said briskly. "There's a young lady leaving the building, make sure she doesn't try anything stupid like running to the police, will you? Then follow me up to the fifth." He didn't bother to wait for a reply. As the lift arrived, he pushed the button and stepped inside. Checking the time, he figured that Preston and Linden should both be in position by now, ready and waiting. Deacon would be ten minutes or so once he'd dealt with the girl… He called a second number on the PHS, and was rewarded almost instantly by Linden on the other end.

"Boss?"

"He's in his office on the fifth" said Vincent brusquely. "I'm on my way there now. Deacon is taking care of a young lady."

The disappointment was evident in the junior Turk's tone. "Awww, how come he gets the cushy numbers and I'm sitting on a roof in the cold?"

"Next time" promised Vincent. "Now I want you and Preston stationed outside, ready for my signal."

"Will do."

A ping announced that the lift reached its destination, and the doors swooshed open smoothly. Vincent pocketed the PHS and emerged into a panelled corridor, not completely dissimilar to those inside the Shinra building.

This being his second visit, he knew where he was going. Sullivan had obviously decided to have his meeting in the same room that Vincent had found him in last time, which made things easier for the Turk all round.

It was a large building, and it took him a few minutes to reach the office. He paid no attention to the surveillance cameras that monitored his movements. Deacon's technological skills had ensured that the security officers would be watching endless reruns of blank corridors for the next few hours. Vincent had also instructed his colleague to disconnect the internal alarms, so there would be no alerting the authorities during the course of the evening. Nonetheless, he was on guard, and made not a sound as he stalked through the corporate corridors.

He soon arrived at a corner near to the office. If the Turks intelligence reports were anything to go by, then there would be two guards posted outside the main entrance to Sullivan's office, new additions since Vincent's first visit. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a second gun, this one pre-prepared with a silencer attached. Edging up to the corner, he listened out for the telltale sounds of guards. Sure enough, after a short while, one coughed, and the other muttered something under his breath.

Using the sounds to gauge their relative positions, he paused for a moment to collect himself. Through the thin black gloves that he wore, he could feel the cold, hard presence of his gun, perfectly moulded to fit his hand. So perfect, that when he walked round the corner and levelled the weapon at the first guard's head it wasn't a gun at all, merely an extension of his arm. His finger had squeezed the trigger twice before the two dumbstruck men had a chance to fumble their own weapons.

A few more strides took him up to the large mahogany door. Delicately he stepped over the bodies of the two goons, each of whom had a virtually identical, bullet shaped hole in their foreheads. This time his lips did curve into a slight smile. Most gunmen went straight for the heart, but he shunned the idea. Too messy that way, and if you missed the precise spot (not that he ever did), then your target was still left alive. A bullet to the brain however, was almost instantly fatal.

He deftly removed the silencer from the gun barrel and replaced it in his jacket pocket. Reaching inside, he drew out the gun's twin from its holster round his chest and checked it, all the while keeping an ear out for any signs that the people inside the office had heard the disturbance. None. So far the heavy wooden door had effectively muffled any noise the guards had made on their final descent to the floor.

Satisfied that all was going according to plan, he put phase two into action. There were times when a Turk needed to be stealthy, needed to remain hidden and concealed.

This was not one of those times.

oOo

The building that housed Elton Sullivan's small empire was reasonably new. It was also situated in a busy district, with plenty of smaller outbuildings all packed closely together. It was from a vantage point on one of these, that Preston and Linden watched as their superior made his entrance.

They had been watching proceedings in the office for a while. A quick head count showed six people inside. Sullivan himself had naturally taken the plush seat behind his desk and even put his feet up on it, while the subordinates were scattered round the room in various chairs. Closer inspection showed that at least two of these henchmen were also wanted by the Turks for assorted reasons. Double payday, as Linden remarked.

Inside, conversation appeared to be getting a little heated. Thanks to a specially installed wiretap (courtesy of Deacon disguised as an electrician), the pair were able to listen in to the discussion. It appeared that all was not well inside the Sullivan camp. One of the subordinates, identified by Preston as one Nikos Oakley, was clearly unhappy, indicating that he wanted more money for doing whatever his hazardous job might be. He was in the middle of a particularly vicious harangue when the twin doors burst open, revealing none other than the leader of the Turks. No-one could loom quite like Vincent, and he made full use of the ability, simply standing in the doorway, guns in hand, staring at the occupants of the room, each of whom were frozen in place with shock at the sight of the Turk and the two dead bodies behind him.

"What the hell is he doing?" muttered Linden, as Vincent stood there being intimidating. "I thought we normally went for a more subtle approach?" Preston cracked a smile in response.

"He's enjoying himself" the Turk replied knowingly. "In spite of all he's moaned about having to do this, he's actually enjoying it."

Framed in the doorway, Vincent was certainly an imposing sight. He stepped forward a few paces before coming to a halt, looking round and meeting the gaze of every other man in the room. A loud slam echoed round the now silent office, as he kicked the doors shut behind him. Sullivan visibly jumped at the noise.

"I think you forgot to invite me." Vincent sauntered into the centre of the room, never taking his eyes off the man behind the desk. The object of his attention remained dumbstruck. His mouth opened as if to speak but no words were forthcoming. The Turk came to stand directly in front of the table and regarded the seated man with distaste. "Get your feet off that desk" he ordered brusquely, "you're not a complete animal." Sullivan hurriedly complied. "And straighten your tie for Shiva's sake, it's a bloody mess."

The businessman's hand was already halfway to the offending article of clothing before his stubborn streak kicked in and he left the tie as it was. Alright, so he might have probably the most dangerous man in the world standing before him, but that man was outnumbered six to one. A little of his arrogant confidence returned.

"What do you want?" he huffed, sure that the odds were tipped in his favour.

Linden shook his head in disbelief as Vincent lazily raised one his firearms and expertly shot Elton Sullivan through the foot. His leader was alone in the room with six men, all of whom were more than likely heavily armed. There was no way that Vincent should even be alive at this point, let alone still standing, but none of the other men had moved. "How does he _do_ it?" he asked his companion softly. "If any of us tried that, we'd be stone cold on the floor already."

Seeing Sullivan recoil in agony and the five other men still refusing to budge, Preston could only agree. Their leader had an undeniable flair for the dramatic, however much he usually hid it behind an unemotional exterior. The older Turk had seen Vincent in action too many times to count now, and reasoned that the unpredictability of these flamboyant episodes was one of the reasons they worked so effectively. The leader was known to be cool, calm and lethally efficient, so when he started acting differently it threw people off their guard.

Whatever the logic behind his actions, Vincent was to intents and purposes, enjoying himself. Having given Sullivan a limp for whatever remained of his life, he turned his attention to other extremities of the now cowering businessman.

"I assume you know why I'm here" he said, chatting almost amiably. "You've done something very stupid, haven't you?" Sullivan nodded rapidly, then changed his mind, in a vain attempt to play innocent. He cowered down in his chair, and noticed to his palpable relief that three of his henchmen had got over their initial apprehension and were co-ordinating some kind of rescue attempt behind his attacker's back. The trio were subtly moving into a new position, ready to ambush the towering Turk, hands inching towards concealed weapons.

Preston and Linden observed this development with growing concern. "Do you think he knows?" whispered Linden urgently. "If we move now…"

"He hasn't given the signal" answered Preston, though his face was drawn into a grimace. "We can't move without compromising his position. But if they get any closer…" His frown deepened. "Get ready."

Inside, Vincent was still lecturing Sullivan on the wrongness of his actions. "For a start, you tried to kill me in my own apartment! I mean, how stupid do you think I am? Everyone tries there! And your shoddy hire traipsed mud all over my carpet, which I was not at _all_ happy about…"

The businessman held up his hands to stop the tirade. By now, the henchmen had manoeuvred themselves into a favourable position, and the Turk hadn't noticed. Six men could easily overpower one, even if one of the six had an oozing hole in his foot. Sullivan felt the ball was now firmly in his court. "Just hold it there" he said, hoping to keep Vincent distracted long enough for the men to make their move. "I admit I might have been a little over enthusiastic…"

"You tried to kill me."

"Forgive and forget, that's what I say…"

"Four times."

"But don't you think we could work something out here?" His eyes flickered momentarily to the five men grouped behind the Turk. Just a few seconds longer… He tried to draw himself up in his chair. "I mean, we wouldn't want anything to happen to that lovely young lady of yours, would we?"

Of all the things he could have said, that was the only thing that could have possibly made his situation worse. Vincent had already realised long ago that any woman he became associated with was in danger, simply because of who he was. Therefore he tried to keep any such relationships as quiet as possible. He'd rather vainly hoped that Lucrecia would be spared this, but it was inevitable that the seedier elements of Midgar would find out eventually. To hear the threat coming from a lowlife Elton Sullivan however, was the last straw as far as he was concerned.

From their perch outside, Linden and Preston also caught the thinly veiled threat, and exchanged knowing glances. "Well, that's torn it" commented Preston. "Come on, let's move. We're going to have a lot of clearing up to do."

Vincent betrayed no outward display of his seething rage for a couple of seconds, just long enough to make Sullivan think he had him over a barrel, and just as the five lurking henchmen sprang into action.

Contrary to all appearances, Vincent was well aware that they were creeping up on him. Aside from the fact that they had been making an absolute racket to his well trained ears, Sullivan had given the game away numerous times, they way his gaze had kept darting back and forth. All hell broke loose.

As the first man leapt, the leader of the Turks turned on his heel and met him with a devastating fist to the face, knocking him to one side. Combined with the weight of the gun still firmly in his hand, the man staggered back, dazed. Simultaneously, Vincent lashed out with his left foot, catching a second man dead in the stomach.

Loping across the roof, the two backup Turks were in full view of anyone inside the office, though at this point, none of the occupants were in any position to notice, save one, and he was on their side. Having taken care of the initial attack, they saw their leader tackle the rest, only not quite as humanely as he had the first time. Vincent now employed his guns, using them with a deadly accuracy and precision. Drawing their own weapons, Linden and Preston laid down some covering fire as they moved. One Turk was bad enough for the men inside, but coping with another two - and from a different direction – was more than they could handle. Sullivan was forced to watch as his henchmen were reduced to swiss cheese right before his eyes, and all in a matter of seconds. The last man fell, just as the slimy businessman fell off his chair and lurched towards the now shattered window. He managed to haul himself up the frame, only to be faced by the smiling visages of Linden and Preston.

Spinning back, he noticed that Vincent had demolished any form of support Sullivan might have enjoyed, and was even now advancing towards him, a grim expression on his face. Caught, between a rock and a hard place.

"Congratulations" said a stony faced Vincent, all traces of his earlier, more eccentric behaviour completely erased. "I now despise you on more levels than I thought possible." He deftly spun the twin revolvers in his hands and replaced them in their holsters with one fluid movement. Linden rolled his eyes and murmured "show off" - it seemed that not quite all the eccentricities had been buried.

The Turk pulled another gun out from its position on his hip. The Quicksilver was a beautifully crafted silver weapon, handmade to his exact specifications. The only one of its kind in existence, it took also specially made bullets; when this gun was fired, there was no doubt as to who had done it.

"I thought you might have learned your lesson. It seems I was wrong." The gun pointed at Sullivan's forehead. "I don't give second chances."

Elton Sullivan's last mortal words were drowned out by the sound of three shots. The underworld leader toppled backwards, as the unique bullets tore through his body.

As his corpse slumped to the ground, Preston and Linden climbed through the window and into the room, edging round the pile of bodies. For the second time in ten minutes, the main doors burst open to reveal a Turk, this time a hard breathing Deacon.

"Lift… broke" he offered by way of explanation. He suddenly seemed to take in the surroundings, in particular the lifeless form of their main target, precise wounds in the head, neck and heart.

"You're a little late" said Vincent simply, returning his prized weapon to its holder and walking towards him.

Deacon raised an eyebrow. "I can see that" he answered. "What the hell happened?"

"Dumbass threatened the boss's girlfriend" Linden supplied helpfully. "Bet your bottom gil he won't be doing that again in a hurry." He too looked round at the carnage. "You want us to sort this out?" he asked.

Vincent paused for a moment. "No" he decided eventually. "Leave it. I want people to know what's coming if they piss me off anymore." With that he made his exit, every bit as theatrical as his entrance.

The three junior Turks watched him go. No matter how many times they saw Vincent at work, he never ceased to amaze them. Linden summed up their collective feelings as best as he could.

"Bloody drama queen."


	18. Chapter 18

Professor Gast paced up and down the lab floor impatiently. Every so often, he would direct a glance at a piece of equipment, where a clock was counting down the minutes. Nearby, Doctor Hojo stood still as a statue, arms folded tightly across his chest. His own eyes were firmly fixed on the countdown, narrowed, as if he could somehow will the numbers to change faster. The third person present sat delicately perched on the end of a laboratory table, reading through a choice selection of notes, seemingly unperturbed by the behaviour of her companions.

Lucrecia gave a small sigh, as the Professor passed in front of her again. She had lost track of how many times he had crossed her line of vision.

"I never thought it was possible to wear a groove into a tiled floor" she remarked offhandedly, "but I think you might manage it if you carry on like that." Gast paused in his pacing, and a wry smile appeared on his face.

"We're not all blessed with your infinite patience" the Professor teased gently.

The younger woman laughed. "On the contrary, I want to see the results of the tests just as much as you do" she said. "But as the saying goes, a watched pot never boils."

"True enough." Gast looked over to Hojo, who seemed to be doing his best to ignore them, so intent was he on the timer. "How long to go?"

Hojo's eyes never left the countdown. "Three minutes and eighteen seconds" he replied. Lucrecia pulled a face at his back, which caused Gast to snicker. Hojo's eyes narrowed even more, well aware that he was the object of their ridicule. "Have you quite finished?" he asked snappily. "This is one of the most important experiments we have ever attempted, and you are both acting like children!"

Returning her gaze to the papers in her hands, Lucrecia stifled her smile and continued reading. Maintaining her calm demeanour was getting more and more difficult. Much as she disliked agreeing with him, Hojo was correct. Today was the culmination of phase one of the newly created Jenova Project.

The pages in front of her detailed the history of the project to date. Once the Ancient specimen had been located, a team of dedicated scientists and archaeologists had worked round the clock to extract the Cetra remains and preserve them, ready to be taken back to the HQ for analysis. It was only when they had exhumed the body fully and it hit the fresh air, that they made the first of what was to be many alarming discoveries.

As they painstakingly started chipping away the remainder of the ice, two of the group who were working on the head jumped back in horror. The rest of the team, startled, ran to see what had caused the sudden panic.

They stared shocked, as the corpse inside the casket of ice slowly and deliberately, blinked.

This led to discovery number two. The Cetra was apparently not dead, yet neither could it be counted as alive. A more detailed examination showed instead that the specimen was in some kind of catatonic state. No revival process seemed effective. Without getting it back to the lab, it was impossible to tell exactly what was going on.

Gast of course had been in the loop from the beginning. As soon as news reached him that all wasn't quite as they'd thought, he'd commandeered a helicopter and flown out personally to investigate. As suspected, the scientists could do little more whilst at the Glacier. The Cetra would have to be transported back to the Shinra HQ.

In his position as head of the Science Department, the Professor pulled the necessary strings, and within a short space of time, more helicopters had arrived to package the specimen and carry it back to Midgar. Crates of ice samples, DNA and cellular debris were all ferried home, with Gast never leaving the side of the container holding the Ancient the entire duration.

The already heavily restricted Science floors became even more limited with the arrival of the Cetra. A large lab was immediately cordoned off, accessible only to Professor Gast and the Shinra top brass. An immense container was constructed, filled with a clear preserving fluid. Aside from the initial eye movement, there had been no more noticeable signs of life from the body, but Gast could not in all honesty class the creature as dead.

It had been Lucrecia herself who had discovered the Ancient's name. In the course of her research into the long extinct race, she had unearthed several documents and writings dating back to the Cetra times. In the light of recent events, she started going through these again, in the hope of finding some information about their find.

She was rewarded with a sketchy account of the last days of the Ancients. The documents were from Cosmo Canyon's library, old and incomplete but nonetheless valuable. Written in the Cetra iconic language, it took days for even the most dedicated scholars to translate just a small portion of text. It was broken up - not even the Canyon's elders could decode some of the script - but it made clear reference to 'Knowlespole', 'Crisis', 'Jenova' and 'skies'.

From correlating all their research, they knew that Knowlespole was the Ancient's term for the Great Glacier and Icicle Village (Lucrecia had eagerly imparted this scrap to Vincent, who had been most intrigued to discover the original name for his hometown). The rest was more conjecture than cold hard fact. As far as the scientists could discern, the downfall of the Cetra race was caused by this 'Crisis from the Skies' - a small meteor that had crashed in the Northern Continent and contained a kind of virus. The disease infected the Ancients that came into contact with it, and spread rapdly, killing all but a few. Then the account started to break up as the scholars ran into untranslatable iconographs. 'Jenova… Buried at Knowlespole… Frozen… ice'. That was all they could read.

Gast concluded that that their specimen must be the Jenova of which the account spoke, an Ancient who had succumbed to the alien virus and been frozen in the Glacier. Evidently no other Ancients had been able to help her, suffering as they were from the disease themselves.

The Professor had hand picked the team he wanted to work on the project. Lucrecia was one of the first to join, as a Biology specialist combined with her knowledge of the Cetra, she was an obvious choice. Doctors Keirnan and Hojo were also involved, if a little grudgingly when it came to the latter. Hojo was hardly a popular member of the group, but Gast had to concede that the man had skills in genetics that would undoubtedly be needed. Keirnan, one of the eldest members of the department was also an eminent Biologist, though nowhere near as much of an annoyance as Hojo. Together with a couple of juniors, they formed the Jenova Project.

Today was the day that the first stages of their experiments bore fruit. They had already conducted numerous tests, analyses and re-tests on various cell samples, until they had been confident of the cells themselves were a source of fascination for all involved. Similar to human, yet different in the most unusual ways.

Unsurprisingly, Gast had been the first of them all to notice the similarities between the effect the Jenova samples had on other cells and the effect of Mako on humans.

They had recently started the SOLDIER programme, following on from Gast's research. Injecting a watered down amount of Mako into specially selected members of the Shinra military, they had been able to produce men who were stronger, smarter and fitter than the average. Ideal soldiers, in fact. The President, immensely pleased with the results, gave the green light for an official regime, where the most promising candidates from the armed forces were selected to receive the Mako infusion.

The Jenova cells seemed to react in a similar way when combined with others. Tests run on single-cell organisms showed that the ones treated with Cetra DNA became more dominant and likely to survive, replicating faster and with less cellular degeneration.

The next step was obvious.

A soft bleeping noise from the direction of the timer interrupted her reading. Her calm exterior was immediately betrayed, as she hopped off the table and practically ran to the dial to switch it off. Gast was positively brimming with excitement, and even Hojo had exchanged his customary grimace for merely a grotesque parody of a smile.

The Professor produced a keycard from his labcoat and walked over to a sealed door. Behind it lay the first stage of their Project. Swiping the card through the lock, he watched eagerly as a light flashed green and the door released with a swift intake of air.

Inside, a neat row of five glass containers lined one side of the small room, each shielded by a cylindrical metallic plate so only the tops were visible. The plates had miniature clipboards attached to them, and Gast walked straight over to the nearest and pulled off the board. Scanning through, he seemed to double check the contents before turning to the two people next to him, both of whom seemed to be hopping from foot to foot in impatience.

"What do you say we dispense with a lot of the tedious procedures?" asked Gast with an almost impish grin, putting down the small clipboard. "I don't know about you two, but I want to see the results." With that, he proceeded to lift the metal casing from the first container, and all three eagerly leaned forward to see inside.

The container was full of a viscous liquid, almost transparent, but with a slight green tint to it. A frightening amount of tubes and wires were hooked up to it, some ending in sensors attached to the glass, others weaving their way into the liquid, and the experiment it contained.

Immediately, all their eyes focused on the test subject. Floating inside the jar, effortlessly suspended in the fluid, was a mouse. Tubes connected it to the apparatus behind as it hung there, supported by the machine.

"No visible signs of change" reported Hojo, unable to keep the disappointment out of his usual snide tone.

Lucrecia scribbled notes on her pad, keeping track of her observations. "This is only the first one" she reminded him. "It's a very weak Jenova infusion, only 5 percent."

The Professor nodded. "Maybe the other samples will have some more noticeable alteration" he suggested, removing the shroud from the next canister to reveal a slightly more promising result. At 10 percent, the mouse did appear to be bigger. It even appeared to be moving a little, despite being held in the liquid. He too was furiously scribbling down information as he recorded what he saw. "Hojo, you check on the 30 percent specimens, and Lucrecia you take the 40 percent. I'll see what 20 has done."

He lifted the case from the third sample to find the best looking result yet. The rodent was markedly larger than either of the previous two, it's eyes shining a bright red. It too was awake and moving. Gast shook his head in disbelief. "Marvellous…" he breathed.

A high pitched scream and a crash from the far end of the room almost caused him to drop his notes all over the floor. Jerking round instantly to see the source of noise, he joined Hojo in regarding a very pale and shaken Lucrecia. The case from the final test was rolling to a halt on the tiled floor where the scientist had let it go. Her delicate hands were pressed against her mouth, as she backed away from the container in front of her.

"What is it, my dear?" asked Gast, concerned, hurrying over to her side. Lucrecia was normally such a level headed girl, he couldn't imagine what had caused her outburst. "What's the… oh…"

He tailed off as he saw where her gaze was fixed. The jar she had inspected was identical to the others, apart from one thing. The creature inside.

It could no longer be called a laboratory mouse, that was for certain. Almost as big as a housecat, instead of fur the animal was covered in mottled green scales. Its feet had metamorphosed, becoming larger, harder and clawed. Gast could see scratch marks down the side of the container, where it had evidently tried to escape. Whatever it was, it was also quite, quite dead.

Even the Professor was taken aback. Gently patting Lucrecia on the shoulder, he ordered Hojo to unveil the last specimen. Hastily the doctor complied, revealing a mouse caught almost halfway between the two states. It too floated lifeless.

The three scientists stared at the array of animals in front of them, amazed. Gast couldn't help but marvel at the contrast. "Incredible" he said.

The noise triggered an almost instantaneous reaction from subject number four. Far from being dead, the creature's eyes snapped open to reveal evil glowing red orbs. Ferociously it tried twisting and turning, as if it was trying to attack its creators. The scientists stepped back, as the Jenova enhanced mouse continued it's frenzied assault on its prison before falling quiet and glaring at the trio malevolently.

"Well" Lucrecia breathed at length, regained her composure. "I think we can safely say that it worked."


	19. Chapter 19

"You want me to _what_?"

President Shinra regarded the angry man in front of him. There weren't many people he would tolerate this kind of outburst from, but Vincent was one of those few. He valued the Turk's opinion and had learned to trust Vincent's instincts, having been proven accurate on countless occasions. As a rule, the leader of the Turks obeyed each order he was given to the letter, only questioning anything when he felt that it presented a danger to any of his colleagues, so the President allowed him the occasional lapse in protocol. He'd also over the years, learned the best way to deal with Vincent.

"I want you to go to Nibelheim" Shinra repeated smoothly, "where you will be placed in command of security for our highest level project."

Vincent scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "No. You're asking me to babysit" he stated flatly. "I've been to Nibelheim before, I know what it's like there. Population is approximately six farmers and a dog. A very old dog. With a limp." He shook his head. "With all due respect, a rookie could do this job, or one of SOLDIER. I don't see why it requires my presence."

Leaning back in his chair, the President folded his hands in his lap. "This project is of key importance to the company" he explained. "It is also top secret and must be protected at all costs. If any of our rivals were to hear about this, as I'm sure they eventually will in spite of everything, they will no doubt try to sabotage the project and steal our technology." He raised an eyebrow. "I've decided that nothing less than a Turk presence is acceptable."

"But why me?" Vincent walked over to the desk and leaned on it, resting his gloved hands against the polished mahogany. "Send Preston. He's almost fully recovered from that incident in Wutai, it's nothing he wouldn't be able to handle."

A slight snicker crossed Shinras' face, hastily concealed and replaced with a look of concern. "Ah yes… How is Mr Drake?"

Vincent's expression darkened noticeably. "He's fine. Which is a lot more than can be said of General Freeman when I get my hands on him." This time the Presidents smirk was most definitely visible.

"I heard that the General has been avoiding you."

"He's stupid, not suicidal. He should never have sent one of my men into that situation without consulting me first. Especially when it's Wutai, right now." Vincent fell silent for a moment, indulging in concocting painful forms of retribution in his head, before returning to the subject at hand. "But getting back to my point, Preston could look after this mission, no question. Linden and Deacon are both in the middle of an operation, and so am I."

The President nodded. "Indeed, I'm sure Mr Drake would perform admirably" he acknowledged. "However, I simply cannot take any risks with this project. I need my best man on this, and you are he." Vincent's stance didn't alter, though Shinra hadn't expected it to. The leader of the Turks was all but immune to flattery of his work, but the President always had another trick up his sleeve. "There is also the matter that the project leader has asked for you personally."

Vincent looked up, surprised. "Personally?"

"By name" confirmed Shinra. "He was most insistent, in fact."

The Turk's brow furrowed slightly as he sorted through the small amount of people influential enough to have this kind of pull. "What's the project?" he asked, some of the anger leeching out of his tone.

The President stifled a smile. Yes, he knew exactly how to deal with Vincent Valentine. "Have a look for yourself" he said, handing over a manila file to the man in front of him. "Though I believe you're already quite well acquainted with this one."

Vincent glanced down at the folder on the desk and read the name typed across the cover - 'Jenova Project'.

"Gast" he concluded immediately. "This is Professor Gast's project, about the Cetra."

Shinra allowed himself a smug feeling of satisfaction. "Correct. The project has grown beyond the facilities this building has to offer. As a result, the team is re-locating to Nibelheim for the duration."

The Turk mulled it over. "Now I see why Nibelheim has been chosen" he murmered. "It's so out of the way with a tiny population and access to a Mako reactor…" Picking up the folder, he began to speculatively leaf through it.

"We've already converted the basement of the Mansion to suit their needs" Shinra went on. He could tell now that he'd won over his prize Turk. Vincent was almost certain to chafe a little at some of the restrictions that would be placed upon him, but he would accept the mission. To take his mind off those, the President still had a couple of sweeteners left in reserve.

"It's only a small team, so they should have everything they need." He waited as Vincent skimmed through the file's contents. As suspected, when he reached a certain page, his eyebrows shot up. "And I think you're also on good terms with more than one of them."

Vincent could hardly believe his eyes as he read through the document detailing the participants in the project. 'Professor Gast… Doctors Keirnan and Hojo… Doctor Crescent'. Crescent? Lucrecia Crescent?

"When I told Gast that I wanted a Turk to oversee the security of the Project, he instantly thought of you" said the President. "He said that you came highly recommended by the young lady of the team…"

Doing his utmost to suppress his surprise and joy, Vincent tucked the folder underneath his arm. "Very well" he said, "I'll go to Nibelheim. But I want access to the entire Mansion."

"Granted."

"And I want to remain in close contact with the rest of the Turks." Vincent was suspicious, this was a little too easy for his liking.

Shinra waved his hand nonchalantly. "Of course."

"And we'll need another recruit." He didn't see the harm in pushing his luck while the going was good. "If I'm stationed out in the sticks then three won't be enough to cover."

"Whatever you need, Vincent my boy" replied the President with a reassuring smile. "Now I'm sure you'll have a lot of things to organise before you depart."

"Yes sir." Vincent gave a slight inclination of his head in acknowledgement and started to leave.

"Oh" called Shinra just as Vincent reached the door. "Could you send in General Freeman for his meeting? He's waiting just outside."

The President watched with amusement as a darkly murderous smile crept across the Turk's face as he opened the door and stepped out. All in all, a most successful meeting. He'd known from the start that Vincent wouldn't take kindly to being asked to, as he put it, 'babysit' the scientists, especially as the project was open-ended with no fixed completion date. But as he'd discovered, if you piqued the man's curiosity and offered him a few well disguised incentives, then he could be brought round to the right way of thinking.

He was broken out of his contemplation by a pained scream from outside his office. Once more, his mouth turned up into a pleased smile. It sounded as if Valentine had discussed his issues with the General in his own inimitable way.

Calmly the President picked up his phone and dialled. "Lina? Send a medic up to my office please?" He replaced the receiver and settled back into his chair.

A few seconds later, the double doors burst open and Freeman staggered in. His hands were clutched to his face, and Shinra watched in mild irritation as the General spurted blood onto the pristine carpet and complained as best he could.

"By dose! He broke by bloody dose!"

oOo

It was late that night when Doctor Hojo finally stopped his work. He was pleased with what he had seen so far. He had a number of experiments on the go, all of which seemed to demand his constant attention. This one in particular was most interesting, a collaboration with some of the Biology Professors in Corel. Working in hospitals, some of the doctors had come up with potential ways of fusing flesh and technology, to try and help workers injured in the Corel mines. Of course, none of his sidelines were anywhere near as important as the Jenova Project, but…

_Hojo…_

He looked up, confused. Had he just imagined that? Shaking his head, he glanced back down at his notes. "Bah" he muttered. "Just been looking at these too long…" Returning to his papers, he scribbled down a few lines.

_Hojo…_

No, there it was again! Just a whisper, barely audible, but it was there. Putting down his pencil, he stood up from the desk and looked around. As he thought, all of the other workers had gone home. Curious, he began to walk in the direction of the noise, puzzled. It sounded almost female, but there was something not quite right which he couldn't put his finger on.

He noticed that his glasses had slipped down his nose again, and he pushed them back with a sharp jab. He reached the door to one of the labs - the lab where Jenova was stored. Pushing against the door, he opened it and stepped inside.

The room was dark, but he didn't bother turning on the light. On the opposite side of the room, the tank that contained the Jenova specimen glowed with an eerie turquoise light, providing the only real illumination. Small lights flickered on and off on the control panels, and a machine steadily ticked out readings next to it.

_Hojo…_

The voice was stronger now, and the next thing the Doctor knew, he was standing next to the container, a hand pressed against the glass. Looking up, he could see the still form of Jenova herself, floating serenely in the preservative.

"So beautiful…"

He didn't realise he had spoken the words aloud, until his voice shattered the peace. Strangely, they seemed jarring against the quiet in which the Ancient resided. He moved his face closer to the tank. He could have sworn the thing was smiling at him.

This time when the voice spoke, it was with a definite undertone of possessiveness.

_Hojo… My Hojo…_


	20. Chapter 20

Vincent stared out of the helicopter window at the scenery passing beneath him. Overhead, the choppers' blades thrummed steadily. He could have flown the craft himself, but decided against it. Commandeering one of the executive pilots meant that he could spend the journey in the back, examining the various reports and schematics that he needed to familiarise himself with for this mission.

Nothing at all to do with the fact that Lucrecia was also sitting in the rear of the helicopter.

Of course, the other three scientists, Gast, Keirnan and Hojo, were also belted into this area, so it was hardly private. But he contented himself with discreetly peering up from his reading and stealing furtive glances at her when no-one else was looking.

Lucrecia herself was enjoying the flight immensely. Having been the first aboard, she had immediately taken a window seat, so she could gaze out at the towns and villages they passed. Every once in a while, she would make an exclamation of glee as she saw something that had snagged her interest.

Vincent and Gast both pleasantly humoured her interruptions, each taking the time to notice what she was pointing out. Doctor Keirnan, a man with whom Vincent was not well acquainted but seemed cheerful enough, sat next to the Turk and read a book quietly.

Hojo meanwhile, perched himself squarely next to the Professor, and had spent the entire journey so far sitting with his arms tightly crossed, glaring at Vincent. The only words he had spoken all day were "Out of my way, Turk" when being escorted to the helicopter. The Turk in question hadn't bothered to dignify the man with a reply, which simply served to irritate the scientist even more.

Since then, whenever Vincent had had cause to glance in that direction, he had seen Hojos' eyes narrowed and staring, seemingly trying to bore their way into his skull. He began to wish that he'd allowed Linden to pop a bullet or two through the Doctor to try and improve his disposition.

Another excited yelp from Lucrecia brought him out of his thoughts.

"Over there! Is that Nibelheim?"

He returned his gaze to the window and looked down at the landscape. In the distance, he could see a small village spread on the ground, tucked up near a mountain range. He smiled.

"Yes, it is. We should be there in about ten minutes."

"And about time."

Everyone turned their heads to regard the unlikely speaker. Hojo hadn't moved a muscle, but his words had been clearly audible.

Vincent forced himself to subdue the urge to open the hatch and push the man out. "I'm sorry?" he asked politely. Hojos' face wrinkled into that condescending sneer he seemed to use so often when addressing anyone except Gast.

"I said about time. This has taken long enough, isn't there a quicker way?"

"This is the fastest method available" replied Vincent as calmly as he could manage. "Unless of course you've perfected the art of matter transportation while we weren't looking?" He knew he shouldn't have risen to the bait, but something about the Doctors' attitude and entire manner just set him on edge.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Gast and Lucrecia were desperately trying to keep lids on smiles. Hojo on the other hand, did not appear anywhere near as amused, and completely unable to think up a snappy retort to boot.

"Now if you'll all excuse me for a moment" continued Vincent, "if we're approaching Nibelheim I will need to assist the pilot." With that, he stood up and walked to the front of the chopper, leaving Hojo to fume.

A short time later, the helicopter touched down just outside the town borders. From his seat in the cockpit, Vincent nimbly hopped out and onto the grass, the wind generated by the craft whipping his hair in his face. Shaking his head to clear away the errant locks, he jogged round to the side and opened the hatch door to allow the scientists to leave.

Hojo was the first to disembark, saying nothing but giving the Turk an evil look on his way, evidently still not over the Turk's parting jibe. Gast and Beck quickly followed, and Lucrecia was last. Vincent offered her his hand as she got out, which she accepted gratefully. Jumping the small distance to the ground she smiled up at him, an action that he decided made the ordeal of sharing confined space with Hojo for a few hours eminently worthwhile.

"Thank you."

The noise from the chopper drowned out the words, but he was able to read her lips well enough to understand her intent. He could quite happily have stood there all day, holding her hand and taking in her beautiful face, but for now he had to remain professional. Tearing himself away from her with a smile, he turned to the group and beckoned them away from the helicopter.

Once they were a safe enough distance away to be heard without shouting, Vincent called them to a halt. "Your luggage will be brought out in a moment" he said, still having to raise his voice to be heard. "In the meantime, I'll show you to the Mansion." He lead them off towards the town gate. A quick check back over his shoulder proved that a Shinra employee was already beginning to unload the suitcases from the craft. Satisfied, the Turk ushered his charges towards Nibelheim.

Isolated from most of the nearest towns by the great Nibel mountains, the town itself was indeed small, especially when compared to Midgar. Vincent had been a little inaccurate when he described the population as being six, but in all honesty he wasn't all that far off. It seemed like the entire town had turned out to witness the arrival of the Shinra contingent, and he could count certainly no more than fifty people in the streets and surrounding area.

Idly he wondered what exactly he was supposed to be protecting the scientists from, as none of the inhabitants seemed to be in the least bit threatening. They gaped at the small group with awe, keeping a respectful distance as Vincent guided them towards the far end of town.

The Shinra Mansion stood tall and imposing, surrounded on all sides by high walls and a wonderfully crafted iron gate. The President had commissioned the building many years ago as a second home, but midway through changed his mind, deciding that Costa del Sol was a far more temperate place to live. The Mansion was still completed, though used for different purposes. Shinra held employee conferences here for a while, as well as formal occasions and dances. Now it was to be the new home of the Jenova Project.

Opening the gate, Vincent ushered the scientists inside the gardens. All but Hojo were looking around the area with curiosity, interested in their surroundings. The irascible Doctor was still sulking, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Striding up to the main entrance, the Turk unlocked the door and swung it open. Inside, the scientists gathered in the hallway. A swooping staircase dominated the room, and numerous elaborate doors led off to other parts of the Mansion.

Lucrecia breathed a small sigh. "I hadn't expected it to be quite so… big" she remarked, taking in the new workplace.

"You should find everything you need either here or in town" explained Vincent to the group. "Living quarters have been provided upstairs for each of you. Would you like a complete tour now, or should I show you to the lab?"

Seeing the looks on their faces, he already knew what the answer was going to be. Gast spoke for them all. "I think we'd really like to see the lab, Mr Valentine" he said, with a big grin.

"Of course" Vincent answered. "It's in the basement. If you'd follow me…" He trailed off as Hojo immediately started heading off towards one of the doors. "Doctor, is there a problem?"

Hojo spun round. "You said the basement" he spat. "I've been here before, I know where that is. I don't need some common street thug to show me." With that, he stormed off into one of the side rooms, leaving the others standing in bemusement.

The Turk as the first to recover. Arching an eyebrow, he regarded the scientists back as it vanished from view. "Well" he said pointedly. "I will admit that the entrance to the basement _was_ once in that room, but the Mansion has since been altered. The door to the lab is now upstairs. All the good doctor" - he was very proud of himself for being able to say those words with a straight face - "will find in there is the dining room." The remaining three project members chuckled. It appeared that Vincent wasn't the only one who found the man tiresome. "If you come with me, I'll show you the new way to get down to the basement."

They were halfway up the staircase when they heard a door slam. The figure of Hojo emerged from the side room, and began stalking up the stairs behind them, fury blatantly visible on his face. They all refrained from commenting on his outburst, instead leaving him to stew.

Once up on the next floor, Vincent called them to a halt. "Just so you're all aware" he said without trace of a smirk (he was proud of that, too), "the bedrooms are all in that direction." He gestured down in the opposite direction to a corridor. "The lab entrance is this way." He pushed open a door nearby and stepped inside a new room.

It was very pleasant, containing a large window overlooking the Mansion gardens, a small bookcase, some desks, chairs and... no way downstairs. Not even another door. The scientists looked confused. Doctor Keirnan was the one who voiced their collective thoughts. "Um… Where's the door?" he asked curiously.

Hojo shoved himself forward, a smirk painted across his mouth. "The Turk obviously doesn't know what he's doing" he proclaimed. "He's lead us into a dead end." No mention of his own blunder, Vincent noticed. This is when he hoped to Odin that the schematics he'd read on the journey were accurate.

He moved towards the far wall, studying it carefully whilst Hojo scoffed in the background. Unfazed, he searched the bare wall, until he found what he was looking for - a small stone, just slightly different from the others. Figuratively crossing his fingers, he gave the stone a nudge. The motion set off a reassuring noise of machinery, and he was able to watch with silent pleasure as a section of the wall slid away, revealing a helix staircase down. Vincent two, Hojo nil.

"The basement" he declared. "We thought it best that the Mansion be converted, in the interests of security. Any intruders will not have access to your project, which is why the original entrance was sealed."

Without sparing a glance for the seething scientist in the midst, Vincent immediately began descending the steps, beckoning for the to follow. The stairs twirled downwards, through a stone passage, eventually opening out into a long corridor. He let the four pass him, all but one curiously investigating the area.

They milled around, unsure of exactly where they needed to go, until Vincent pointed them in the direction of the new laboratory at the end of the passage. "Here's the main lab" he explained, opening the door for them and feeling more than a little like a tour guide. "And through there is an extensive library."

It was certainly impressive. The large laboratory was packed full of state of the art equipment. Canisters, racks, tanks, machinery, everything the four could ever possibly imagine or ask for. Several crates stood to one side, no doubt filled with more treasures. Gast and Beck made a beeline for these, whilst Lucrecia wandered into the Library to the rear. Hojo gave the room a slow circuit, eyes roving over each device or item, perhaps hoping to find a flaw. The Turk simply stood in the doorway, amused, letting them get on with it. He was visibly reminded of children at Christmas time, opening presents.

Hojo completed his mini tour of the facility and sniffed. "I suppose this will be satisfactory" he grudgingly admitted to the room at large. Gast broke his attention away from the latest crate and looked up.

"Satisfactory?" he echoed, just as Lucrecia came meandering back in. "Mr Valentine, please convey my gratitude to the President when you speak to him. The lab is perfect."

Vincent nodded. "Certainly" he answered. "I'm ordered to provide him with weekly updates of the Project, so I'll pass on your comments." Straightening his jacket, he addressed them all. "If you're quite happy here, then I'll leave you to it. I have several duties to attend to. Feel free to explore the Mansion, though if you're going into the town please report it to me."

He was back in the upstairs room when Lucrecia caught up with him. "Phew! That's a lot of stairs" she complained lightly, "and your legs are longer than mine." Vincent smiled. Whilst the three other scientists were downstairs and it was just the two of them, he could drop some of the professionalism.

"What is it, Lu?" he asked, stopping by the door.

"I've been cooped up in that helicopter for hours already, I don't feel like being cooped up down there quite yet" she laughed. "There's time enough for that later. I wanted to have a look at the town, I've never been to Nibelheim before."

Vincent gave his consent with a tilt of his head. "Of course."

She shook her head. "No… I meant let's take a walk round" she suggested eagerly. "That includes you." Vincent shrugged helplessly.

"I'd love to, but I can't" he protested. "I have to go and…"

The petite scientist placed her hands on her hips and gave him a definite 'look'. Vincent felt his indomitable will already beginning to give way. "None of that" she pronounced. "You're coming with me, whether you like it or not." She waved a hand around in a vague kind of way. "Think of it as… securing the area, or something. Isn't that what Turks do?"

He gave in with a rueful smile. Somehow Lucrecia always managed to do this. Not that he really minded, it was true he did have to scout around the town, become familiar with his new surroundings. He'd planned to get to grips with the Mansion first, but there was no harm in exploring Nibelheim to start with.

"Alright" he said. "But I'll need to get changed first, and I suggest you do the same." The pair started walking along the corridor to their sleeping quarters. "The luggage should be unloaded and in the rooms by now. Yours is the one at the end of the hall." They walked up until they reached the aforementioned door.

"And where's yours?" Lucrecia asked with a glint in her eye.

He motioned towards another door, this one back close to the landing. "There."

"Good. Just so I know where to run to if I need protecting in the middle of the night."

An elegantly arched black eyebrow practically disappeared into Vincent's hairline. "I am at your service" he answered, unable to resist a small smirk. "I just need to sort out a few things, give me ten minutes…"

oOo

As it turned out, he was longer than ten minutes. He'd just reached his room when he was accosted by the housekeeper, who had a list of things she'd needed to discuss with him. Politely he'd dealt with her requests (no point in antagonising the staff, he figured), before finally getting into his bedroom.

Lucrecia had waited for the allotted time and five minutes more, before deciding to root out the Turk herself. She found the door to his room ajar, so poked her head round.

"No."

Vincent looked up.

"What?" he asked innocently. At least as innocently as it was possible for a six foot Turk holding a very large rifle to be. He was standing in the middle of the room, a vast array of guns laid out on the bed. It appeared that his main suitcase had contained none of the usual items one might expect such as clothes; instead it held an alarmingly large assortment of weaponry. As she'd walked in, she found him staring through the sight on an inordinately sized firearm, pointed at one wall.

She gestured at the rifle. "You're not seriously going to take that."

"Of course I am" he said, almost taken aback. "If I'm securing the area, then I'll need a good weapon."

"Vincent, this is Nibelheim. There are probably about thirty people living in this backwater, and most of them are over sixty. You will not need that… that... _Thing_." Lucrecia sighed. You could take the Turk out of Midgar, but you couldn't take Midgar out of the Turk…

He rolled his eyes, and put the rifle down on a dressing table. His hand started towards a slightly smaller weapon nearby.

"Vincent…" Lucrecia's warning tone halted his movement.

"Alright, alright…" He held up both hands. "You win."


	21. Chapter 21

The Nibel mountain range was one of the most awesome natural spectacles in the world. Vincent meandered along the paths leading through the huge hills, his arm around a slightly more breathless Lucrecia, taking in the scenery.

"Do you have to go so fast?" she asked. "Not all of us are as used to this physical exertion as you are."

Pausing for a moment while she recovered a little, Vincent stared out over the cliff. The incredible view was, in his opinion at least, marred by the Shinra Electric Company power station, situated in the pass. A new development, the corporation had decided to tap into the large resource of Mako in the area. Stark and metallic, it didn't fit in with the natural beauty surrounding it. Lucrecia heard him rumble something to that effect under his breath.

"What is it?" she enquired. Vincent pointed towards the building.

"That" he said. "It just doesn't… go here. Shinra shouldn't have built it."

A quizzical smile spread across Lucrecia's face. "Don't you normally kill people for saying things like that?"

"Just because I work for them doesn't mean that I approve of everything they… we do" he answered levelly. He saw the scientist open her mouth and cut her off before she could start. "Oh I know, there were lots of sound reasons why the power station was built. But still…" He gestured to see if she had caught her breath yet. Lucrecia nodded, and they carried on walking. "Maybe it's the Wutai in me, but I just don't like it."

The matter dropped, the pair continued the trek through the paths chatting amicably, until without warning, in one fluid motion Vincent swiftly darted his hand to the back pocket of his suit, withdrew a small black revolver and fired off a shot directly behind him. The scientist nestled in his other arm jumped a clear foot into the air with a loud curse.

"Shit! Vincent! What the hell…" She trailed off, following the path of the still smoking gun. A large, grey, doglike animal was slumped about 10 feet away on the track behind them. Vincent's bullet had caught it square between the eyes.

She turned her eyes up at the man next to her and suddenly became aware of just how much like a Turk he seemed at that moment. Strong, powerful and more to the point, lethal. His own gaze was even now scanning the nearby terrain, looking out for any more predators. She hadn't even heard that first one, how on earth had he?

Satisfied that they were safe for the time being, Vincent moved his attention to the tense Lucrecia standing rigidly in the crook of his left arm. "Sorry" he said apologetically, "I didn't have time to warn you."

"How did you… I mean, I didn't…" She struggled to construct a sentence that conveyed her exact meaning and eventually gave up. "Well?"

He shrugged with indifference. "I heard it creeping up on us" he said simply, as if that explained everything. "It's been following us for a while, but from a distance so I didn't do anything about it. Then it suddenly decided to make a break and come right for us. There wasn't enough time to get you to safety before it attacked."

"What?" Lucrecia frowned, more at herself that anything else. She wished she felt up to forming coherent speech, but her brain wasn't co-operating right now. It was too busy replaying the last minute or so over and over in slow motion. She'd thought she was over this, that she had accepted the nature of Vincent's work, but to see it firsthand like this was a whole new reality.

The man himself seemed blissfully unaware of her misgivings. "Nibel wolf" he clarified for her, oblivious the fact that she seemed to have been rendered mono-syllabic by the experience. "I read about them on the way here. They live in the mountains, usually preying on other animals, but have been known to take a chunk out of tourists." He paused to consider this for a moment. "I'm still surprised this one tried us though" he admitted, "a tired and starving hiker is one thing, but we're another…"

Giving another slight shrug, he spun the revolver round in his hand, before holstering it to its hiding place in his pocket. Lucrecia followed the weapon, her frown deepening. "Hang on, I thought I said 'no' to that?" she enquired pointedly, some of her normal composure returning. Vincent's face took on a very guilty expression.

"Ah."

Lucrecia raised an eyebrow. "Of course" she said archly, "that is the only one you sneaked past me, isn't it?" She watched as Vincent appeared to take a very sudden and deep interest in a spot about a foot away from his shoes.

"Ah."

A second eyebrow joined the first. "Vincent" she said in a warning tone. "Just how many of those things do you have on you?"

"Aside from that one?"

"Aside from that one."

The Turk thought about it for a moment. "I have another revolver in the left hand pocket" he replied. "There's a rifle strapped to my right leg, a dagger to the left, a small but extremely useful knife concealed in my jacket, a couple more built in to the caps of my shoes, my belt buckle doubles as a zip wire and my biro fires an explosive projectile device."

Lucrecia stared at him open mouthed. "You're not serious."

"Yes. No. Well, mostly." The Turks' eyes were still riveted to the ground. "I was kidding about the biro."

"Thank Shiva for small mercies."

"It actually houses poison darts. I picked up the wrong one this morning."

The small scientist stared hard at Vincent. His voice was deadpan, but he still had that hangdog expression plastered over his face and it was impossible for her to tell if he was joking or not. It was also increasingly difficult for her to remain scared when he reminded her so much of a lost puppy, though wild horses wouldn't have made her make that comparison out loud.

"Well" she capitulated, "you did save me from that creature I suppose." Vincent's' eyes tore themselves off the ground, suddenly hopeful.

"So I have my uses then?" he asked expectantly, that slight tugging at the corner of his mouth threatening to start up again. Lucrecia gave a long suffering sigh.

"You do" she agreed at length. "Now… Now what are you doing?"

The Turk had disengaged himself from her, and was walking over to the rapidly cooling corpse of the wolf, pulling on his gloves as he did so. "Burying it" he answered. "It's not just wolves that live round here, and some of the other inhabitants have a very acute sense of smell." Lucrecia's own nose crinkled as he almost effortlessly picked up the creature and headed towards a clump of trees. "This will attract monsters for miles if I don't cover it up."

She waited patiently while Vincent went about the task. It didn't take him long to emerge from the trees. "Better" he pronounced. "But it might be a good idea to head back to the town." Pulling off his gloves, he dropped them into his jacket and returned his arm to Lucrecia's shoulders.

oOo

_Gast is old and pliable, __but the woman may be difficult._

Hojo nodded his head thoughtfully, but didn't reply. He didn't really need to. By now, she knew his thoughts almost before he did.

_S__he will succumb. They always do._

Jenova's 'voice' did not sound arrogant or overconfident; she was simply stating facts as she saw them. No-one could stand against her might. The doctor stroked his chin in contemplation. "She's a stubborn one" he warned aloud. The centuries old being made a noise that could have been a laugh.

_She will succumb._

Hojo smirked. For all her wilfulness, Lucrecia wouldn't be able to hold out for long against the mental insinuations of Jenova. Anyone who spent a lot of time around the being became susceptible, to a greater or lesser degree. He himself had never experienced the full power of the Ancient, only the outskirts, and he couldn't imagine even the petite scientist putting up too much resistance. He gazed up at the fabulous creature, floating serenely in the vast specimen tank. No, Lucrecia wouldn't pose a problem. His train of thought suddenly hit an obstacle.

"The Turk."

For two such small words, Hojo managed to fill them with plenty of venom. He disliked the assassin as it was, and since he had discovered that Lucrecia was actually dating him… He doubted that Vincent would agree to the plan he and Jenova were hatching. It wasn't even any of his business, but Hojo guessed the hitman wouldn't just sit by amicably, he'd start interfering…

"Can you 'persuade' him too?"

The question was asked innocently enough, but Jenova's presence seemed to loom larger in his head instead of offering the reassuring answer he wanted to hear.

"Can you?"

For all her show of superiority, Jenova hated to admit that she had any form of weakness and Hojo had just highlighted one. Her ability to influence others did have limitations. Close contact with the target was a great help to her, and the Turk simply wasn't around her often enough. There was also the problem of his mind. Most humans were pitifully easy to control. Hojo for example, not that he was aware of it. All that had been required there had been a few subtle pushes in the right direction and he was devoted to her. The Turk however… From the few glimpses she had caught of his mind, it was disciplined, closed away from her probing. He would be exceptionally difficult to turn.

This time, her mental voice thundered in his ears.

_Of course I can!_

Hojos knees buckled underneath him and he staggered against a desk, as the Ancient sent a crippling wave of energy crackling through his brain. He gripped the table edge, murmuring repeated apologies under his breath as Jenova leaned on him. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure was gone. The Ancient's tones returned to normal.

_Leave them all to me_, assured Jenova smoothly. _I'll take care of everything…_

oOo

"So how do you do that thing? With the gun?"

Lucrecia and Vincent were seated underneath the shade of an immense tree, on an outcropping that overlooked Nibel town. Vincent, his back leaning against the thick trunk, shifted his gaze from the magnificent scenery.

"Hnn?"

"You know, that thing." Lucrecia tried to demonstrate with her hands. "When you put it away, you sort of twirled it round. How did you do that?"

Vincent smiled. "Oh that… It's just a little trick I learned a long time ago." Twisting his arm somewhat awkwardly, he reached behind him and once more removed the small revolver. Easily he sent it spinning round, flipping over and around the knuckles as Lucrecia watched, fascinated. "It's all in the hands" he offered by way of explanation, catching the dancing firearm in mid spin before placing it on his lap.

"It is?"

"Yes. Quick fingers." He flexed the aforementioned extremities. "I used to do a few magic tricks as well when I was a kid." That sent Lucrecia into a small fit of hysterics. "What?" he asked reprovingly.

Lucrecia stifled another giggle. "Come on…" she laughed. Her voice dropped to as deep as she could manage as she declaimed "I am the Great Vincent! Tremble before my awesome magical power!" A new fit of laughter overcome her. "I can just imagine you turning up at children's birthday parties in a cape and pointy hat." For his part, Vincent managed to look suitably offended as she lapsed into sniggering.

"I did!" he protested. "Look…" He reached out his free hand to her ear, and pulled out a Gil piece with pride. "See?"

Lucrecia looked at the coin in surprise before beaming in delight. "Alright, I believe now" she conceded, plucking the Gil from his fingers. "Never knew you had it in you." The scientist pocketed the money with a grin. "So who taught you?"

"The magic tricks or the gun tricks?"

"Either or. But mainly the gun one, I'm curious."

"My father." Vincent picked up the gun again and started turning it over in his hand. "He was a weapon's manufacturer. Made ones very similar to this, as it happens."

Lucrecia's ears perked up a little. The leader of the Turks was normally very close lipped about himself, and especially his family. She knew now that his parents had been killed in an accident, but that was really all he had disclosed. She also knew better than to press the issue unless he was feeling particularly talkative, so had never taken it further. That didn't stop her native curiosity though, and she was always eager to find out more about her sometimes mysterious lover.

"It was my grandfather that taught me the coin trick" Vincent went on. "Did it on me once, and apparently I demanded to know how it was done so he showed me. He was the one who said I had quick fingers. He must've been the one who told my father, because soon after that he started teaching me how to do the one with the gun."

Lucrecia looked at the small weapon on his lap. "How old were you?" she enquired.

He gave a slight shrug. "Nine I think, or thereabouts." His hand closed round the gun. "He asked me if I thought I could do it, so I tried." He gave a small laugh. "The first time it flew out of my hand and smashed a vase. The next few times I still failed abysmally and dropped it on my foot, but it wasn't long before I pulled it off."

"Didn't it scare you though?" the scientist was warming to the topic now, especially since Vincent was in such a loquacious mood.

"Didn't what scare me?" he asked, not quite getting her meaning.

"The gun" Lucrecia clarified. "I mean, so young and handling firearms and all… What if it had gone off?"

Vincent shook his head. "Oh it wasn't loaded. And the safety would have been on anyway, so I couldn't have accidentally fired it." Lucrecia made an 'ahhh' noise in understanding. "Besides" he went on, "I'd pretty much grown up with guns. He used to bring them home all the time and show me how they worked. I could take them apart and put them together again by the time I was six."

Lucrecia was grudgingly impressed. "I guess it's not surprising that you turned out to be so good with them" she said. "I never did anything like that. I was too busy with my nose in a book."

He leaned over and kissed her hair gently. "Look where it's got you though" he answered. "Working with Gast on Shinra's most valued project."

"Yes… But I'm not where I want to be yet." Lucrecia's eyes lit up. "I want to do something… Something _groundbreaking_. Be at the cutting edge of science; be recognised for what I've done." She glanced at her watch and her face fell. "Damn. We'd better get back soon, before they start missing us."

Vincent acknowledged her with a slight sigh. "Probably." He looked around. "I'm convinced that the area is secure, anyway."

She laughed and pulled herself up to her feet. Extending a hand down to the still reclining Vincent, she waited for him to grasp it before hauling him up to join her. He took advantage of the assistance by pulling her into his arms once more. "Though…" A wicked smile crossed his face. "That's not to say there's no predators left."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Lucrecia busied herself with her collection of samples. Batches of Jenova cells, all needing to be catalogued and sorted. Some of the more tedious work admitedly, but it had to be done. Seating herself at her desk, she picked up the first petri dish and turned it over to read the code on the base. 

"Batch J#219…"

She scribbled down the number in her notebook and began a close scrutiny of the contents, jotting down her immediate impressions. Prising open the lid, she used a fresh spatula to extract a portion of the contents. Placing this onto a glass slide, Lucrecia slid the sample under the microscope and leaned over to have a detailed look.

Fascinating. 

She still marvelled at the complexity of the Jenova cells. All her years in Microbiology hadn't prepared her for the uniqueness of the Ancient. For a species that was thought to be so close to humans, the frozen Cetra certainly seemed to have some extraordinary differences. 

"Cellular regeneration already underway…"

The scientist finished her note taking. Satisfied that the specimin had been examined to the best of her ability, she placed the slide with the petri dish, and bagged them both, writing out a fresh label and put the final article to one side.

Jenova must have been incredibly powerful, she speculated. So much stronger, quicker and more intelligent. How much more could we ourselves be with this knowledge? The current ranks of SOLDIER were filled with humans who had been subjected to Mako infusions. What if they had had Jenova infusions instead?

Reaching over for another dish, she started the process again for the next sample. If the small team in Nibelheim could make that breakthrough, find some way to fuse human and Jenova, how good a fighting force would that produce? And more from her point of view, how well would such a great achievement reflect on her career? Professor Lucrecia Daley, perhaps? She allowed herself a small private smile. Professor Gast wasn't getting any younger. She held the man in awe, but one day a new Head of the Science Department would be required, and she could be that replacement.

Naturally, she contemplated, Vincent would hate that.

She paused. Where had that thought come from? Shaking her head to clear it, she went back to her work.

Well it's true. He doesn't care, he doesn't want me to succeed.

Again she stopped midway through her examination and sat upright in bewilderment. That was all wrong, wasn't it? Of course Vincent cared, how many times had he told her? He was always pleased to see her doing well.

At least that's what he says…

Lucrecia pinched her eyes with a hand. She must be tired. After all, she had been working long hours these past few weeks. Vincent would be happy to see her excel. Wouldn't he?

Turning her attention back to the work infront of her, the scientist pushed all such thoughts from her mind, focussing all her attention on the samples.

Floating in the tank, Jenova's consciousness allowed itself a feeling of satisfaction. The woman wouldn't be as easy as Hojo had been, but the seeds were planted and careful cultivation would see them bear fruit.

Pitiful humans…

She was capable of forcing herself directly into the minds of the weak willed, but all too often that damaged the human's fragile minds beyond repair, rendering them nearly useless. She needed capable puppets, not brainless automatons, so she had to be more subtle in her attack methods.

They all had a weakness, it was just a matter of finding it. The womans' was the Turk. The Turk and her own inner insecurities. By pushing in the right places and playing on her innate fear, Jenova knew that she would be won over without too much diffculty.

It was the Turk himself that was the problem. In theory he should have been easier than all the rest - obviously an assassin, a bringer of death, of chaos… The perfect candiate. But something was amiss. The centuries old being turned all her attention towards the stoic, blue suited hitman.

- - -

Blissfully unaware of the creature's designs on him, Vincent stood in his room, discussing the latest project developments with the President.

As part of his mission in Nibelheim, he had been ordered to report in to Shinra every week with any relevant information. Gast was most accomodating with the arrangement, providing the Turk with all the details he could possibly want (and much more, on many an occasion). He had no objections though. Combined with his discussions with Lucrecia, he had managed to acquire a reasonably in depth knowledge of the project. To begin with, he had had to call upon Gast to answer some of the Presidents questions. Now, he could field the majority of them himself.

"So all's going well, Vincent my boy?"

Since Shinra couldn't see him, the man in question allowed himself the luxury of a scowl. Did the President really have to keep calling him that?

"Yes sir" he replied, carefully keeping any sign of annoyance out of his voice. "I've faxed over Professor Gast's latest report for you as usual." Shinra scoffed loudly.

"You know damn well those things make no sense to me." Vincent couldn't help but agree. Science wasn't exactly an area of the President's expertise. Reaching up his free hand, he idly scratched at the back of his head while Shinra carried on. "As long as Gast knows what he's doing, that's good enough for me. How is the Professor anyway?"

Vincent smiled. "Same as usual sir. He asked me to pass on his best wishes to you and your wife, and his apologies that work prevents him from speaking to you today." 

His hand strayed up to the back of his head again, where the itch was proving to be most persistant.

"Return the greeting" ordered Shinra genially. "He and I can have a talk next week. What about the other one? Doctor Hojo?"

"Walking round with a face like a slapped arse, sir."

The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to hold them back. The Doctor had been even more peevish and strange than usual recently, a fact that Vincent hadn't thought possible (he wasn't best pleased at being proven wrong on that count). In fact, the Turk would swear blind that whilst patroling the mansion, he'd seen and heard Hojo talking and arguing to himself, almost as if he were conducting a conversation with thin air. 

The first time he'd seen it, he'd been totally prepared to put it down to over-work. After the third, he'd come to the immediate conclusion that the Doctor was a few sandwiches short of a picnic and henceforth decided to refer to him as "The Crackpot".

Luckily for Vincent, the President was in a good mood and didn't object to the description. As it happened, he seemed to find it rather amusing. "Heh heh… From what I've seen of him, that just about sums him up." Vincent let out an audible sigh of relief, which Shinra obligingly ignored. "Keep me posted" he continued. "I want to know everything that's going on over there, and in language I can understand, not this gobbledy-gook on the fax…"

The Turk exchanged a few more words before flicking the PHS off and flinging it on his bed. The itch at the base of his skull hadn't receeded, in fact it seemed to be spreading and his temple was beginning to throb painfully. Striding over to the dresser, he pulled open one of the top drawers and rooted around until he found a small packet of pills. Prone to the occasional migraine, he always made sure to carry a few painkillers around with him. Popping a couple into his mouth, he decided to get out of the mansion for some fresh air. That would help. And perhaps a drink at the bar. That would help too.

- - -

Jenova pulled back her mind as the Turk moved further away from her sphere of influence. She was not troubled - to admit that she was would be to admit she wasn't as perfect as she wanted everyone to believe - but the Turk was most certainly an irritant. She was positive that his own flaw was the unexplainable feeling he had for the woman, but she justcould not worm her way inside his mind to exploit it. That fact… annoyed her.

Still, if she played the game well, then the woman would do all the hard work for her. The pawn would break the obstacle and effectively kill two birds with one stone. Pleased with the progress she had made today, Jenova sat back and watched. She had waited centuries for this opportunity, she could wait a little longer for the triumph that would unquestionably be hers.  



	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Hands casually jammed in his pockets, Linden strolled out of the front door of the Dons' Mansion whistling a jaunty tune. Breaking off long enough to call out "See you again soon!", he wasn't at all surprised to hear the large door slam shut behind him. 

Unruffled, he continued with the melody and meandered down the path to where his colleague was waiting patiently. Leaning against a lamp post at the top of Wall Market, Deacon smoothly fell in step with the other man.

"I thought you were only going to be ten minutes" Deacon accused. "I've been standing there for almost twenty." Part of his task had involved waiting outside the Mansion for Linden to exit, looking inconspicuous. Needless to say, for a Turk to look inconspicuous in a place like Wall Market was no small feat. Thankfully though, Deacon was suitably menacing that anyone who did take too much interest in his presence was quickly deterred from pursuing it.

Linden produced his sunglasses from one of his pockets and snapped them open. "You know what it's like" he replied, putting on the shades. "Getting the Don to part with money…"

"The words 'blood' and 'stone' do tend to spring to mind" acknowledged Deacon. "What was it this time?"

The two sauntered through the shops and stalls of the Market. Most noticeably, even though the place was teaming with people, the men were never jostled or pushed. Such was the reputation of the Turks. 

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

A smirk creased Lindens' face as he recalled his meeting with the Don of the Slums. 

The man was no more than another of Shinra's puppets, put in place by the company rather than through any of his own merit. He took care of the seedier elements of Midgar - ran the brothels, offering protection to shopkeepers throughout the slums (for a price of course) and taking care of any unlicensed business. Naturally he wasn't allowed to keep hold of all the money he 'earned' - Shinra claimed a large cut, collected by the Turks. The current Don (more than most of his predecessors who spinelessly acquiesced to the President's every demand), had a slightly different attitude to money. He thought it should all belong to him. Therefore every time a Turk called to take Shinra's money, the Don tried every trick in the book to get out of paying some, if not all, of the amount.

His antics were legendary amongst the elite group of hitmen, and many a battle had been fought over who got to take the assignment. After one argument too many, Vincent had finally instigated a rota, ensuring that everyone got their turn to play with the Don.

"He said he'd got religion. Was giving away all his worldly possessions to charity." It was all Linden could do not to burst into raucous laughter. "Though evidently he hadn't gotten round to giving away all the fancy stuff in his office yet."

Deacon, a man who took the spiritual side of life more seriously than most Turks, shook his head reprovingly. "God forgives all men for their sins" he lectured, "except sniveling little creeps like him."

"Amen to that, buddy" agreed Linden. "So when do you think we should start running?"

His partner checked his watch. "As it happens, round about now."

The two men simultaneously broke into a sprint, tearing their way through the milling crowd, just as a ball of flame erupted from the Mansion behind them. Shoppers flung themselves to the ground in a panic as the explosion shook the Market, while the racing Turks dodged a hail of masonry as they made their escape.

"Ouch!" A stray piece of flying Mansion chipped Linden on the shoulder.

"Your own fault" puffed Deacon as the pair rounded a corner and away from the worst of the devastation. "If you'd taken the ten minutes you told me instead of twenty, we'd have been well out of here before it went off."

"But visiting the Don is always such a pleasure." Estimating themselves to be clear of any more flying debris, they slowed to a walk once more. Looking back over his shoulder, Linden could see a huge cloud of thick black smoke, rising from where the Dons' Mansion used to be. "Nice bomb though" he complimented. "Very effective."

The corner of Deacons' mouth curled upwards into an unmistakable smile. "She was a beauty" he admitted. "I designed it especially for the Don."

"You did?"

"Sure. I made it big enough to take out the entire building, make him do the largest splits he'll ever do in his life and spray-painted it gold to match the rest of the shit he had in there."

Linden couldn't help himself from laughing this time. "You're a true artist, man." He sighed. "The only problem now is that we've just blown up our favourite Don. We're gonna need a new one. Do you think that guy had a brother?"

"Orders are orders" Deacon, ever the pragmatic one of the duo, reminded his colleague. "The boss said he had to go." 

"True." Though stationed out in the middle of nowhere, Vincent was still doing his damndest to remain at the hub of Turk operations. All missions, information and operations were communicated to him, and he issued the orders from Nibelheim. It wasn't quite the same though, as the three Midgar based Turks had discovered. "Ah well, job done. What say we go get a drink?"

Deacons' smile increased. "I like your way of thinking" he replied. "Preston said he was going for a few bevvies over in Sector Eight. We could always join him."

"A regular Turk night out. Let's go."

A siren was just beginning to sound in the background, no doubt the fire service come to put out whatever remained of the Mansion. Leaving behind the chaos of Wall Market, the Turks ambled towards Sector Eight. Linden spotted a small child shoot past him, clutching something small and shiny to his chest. He vaguely recalled seeing a similar item, some kind of golden paperweight, sitting on the deceased Dons' desk.

The crowds didn't diminish as they neared their destination. The news of the explosion had obviously filtered this far though the Slums, which wasn't surprising considering the rate at which information sped round the area. People were buzzing like flies, huddled in corners or heading off to loot the bomb site.

Reaching the main road through the sector, Linden looked up and down the street. This place too was full of people. He noticed they seemed agitated and heading in one particular direction, but not the quickest route to Wall Market. Turning to his partner he asked "which bar did Preston say he was going to?" Deacon pondered a moment.

"Henderson's, his usual."

"That's what I figured." Linden's brow creased up in thought. "And isn't Henderson's that way?" He pointed down the road, the same direction as the residents were heading in. 

"It is…" Deacon followed the other Turk's line of sight. Indeed, the people did seem to be heading towards one particular place. Neon signs fizzled outside forming the unmistakable word "Henderson's". He started to jog along with them, Linden trotting close behind. As they grew nearer, their alarm increased. People seemed to be staggering out of the building, clutching at wounds. Some lay on the pavement, injured, dead, it was impossible to tell. 

Shifting into a dash for the second time that evening, the Turks shoved their way through the crowds and up to the door, where they skidded to a halt.

"I think we'd better take a look a look at this" grimaced Linden. "Looks like someone's gone a little crazy in here." Deacon was only half listening, his attention had been grabbed by something to his left. He moved over to investigate but stopped almost immediately. Linden carried on regardless. "I think…" Deacon interrupted his flow of speech.

"I think" he said slowly, eyes riveted on the ground, "that we'd better call the boss."  



	24. Chapter 24

Vincent hauled himself over the mountain ledge and immediately reached down to clasp his companions' hand. Lucrecia eagerly grasped the proffered limb, grateful for the assistance. Next to them, the thundering Nibelheim falls cascaded into the lake below, a deep blue expanse of water stretching through the valley. 

Pulling the scientist up to join him on the ledge, they paused for a moment to admire the view. Spray from the waterfall settled on his face and hair, something he found particularly refreshing after the long climb.

They had found this route purely by luck on one of their little walks through the mountains. The couple had been walking close to the lake when Vincent had spotted some local wildlife taking too much of an interest in them for his liking. He had chased the creature away, only to return with news that there was a small pathway leading up the side of the cliff. On the off chance that it led to the falls, they decided to try it out. 

As fortune would have it, they were correct. The path was steep, slippery and barely used, but took them right up close to the water, up the side and, to Lucrecia's delight, behind the waterfall itself. There, they were amazed to discover that some traveller before them had hollowed out a cave in a nook of the mountain. The young scientist immediately fell in love with the place, and with the addition of a few blankets, it had become their favourite spot to escape to.

She laughed, and set off on the final portion of the journey, the narrow ledge that disappeared behind the falls.

"Come on, hurry up!"

Vincent rolled his eyes and tried not to look down too much. He'd never had much of a problem with heights (his job found him sneaking over rooftops just as often as through streets), but something about the tremendous drop into that bottomless lake unnerved him. Or maybe it was that his feet just barely fitted onto the ledge, whereas the more delicate Lucrecia had no such difficulty.

"For Shiva's sake Lu, be careful!" he called, as she skipped along the path, loosening a few stones along the way, sending them tumbling down into the depths of the lake.

Lucrecia laughed again as he plastered his back to the cliff and edged along in her wake. "I am!" she trilled back, quickly reaching the cave mouth and darting in. Vincent risked a glance down and wished he hadn't. Sternly he reprimanded his stomach for lurching and cautiously continued until he too was safe inside the cavern. Running his hands through his now damp hair, he realised that he'd been unconsciously holding his breath for about the last five minutes. He hoped Lucrecia hadn't noticed.

"Oh it's not that bad, is it?" she asked. Rats, he thought. She noticed.

He exhaled, blowing away the strands of hair that were still dangling in his face. They immediately flopped back in front of his eyes. "Damn."

The scientist giggled, walking over to him. "Here, let me" she offered, gently tucking the offending black locks behind his ear. He took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin on her head when she had dealt with his fly-away hair. She settled into the embrace, until she discovered that his jacket she was nestled in was soaked through.

"Did you go swimming or something when I wasn't looking?" she asked, indicating the garment in question. "This thing is drenched…"

Giving a melodramatic sigh of despair, the Turk released her from his grasp and shrugged off his jacket. "That better?" he asked. She gave him the once over.

"No" she decided. "That shirt is wet as well." Vincent raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter so much as a word, the little scientist had covered his lips with her own and was pulling him further into the cave.

- - -

Taking advantage of a lull in research, the 'Crackpot' had locked himself in the laboratory whilst Gast and Beck had gone out for an afternoon coffee. Seated at the desk nearest to the Jenova specimen, he furiously scribbled down equations on a notepad, crossing out parts he found wrong, double-checking those that were left. Behind him, the Ancient floated in her tank, watching over her puppet closely.

"You know" muttered Hojo as he scratched through another few algebraic symbols, "this might just work." To the outside observer, he appeared to be talking to himself; only he could hear Jenova's reply.

"Of course it will" the creature assured him. "The procedure will produce a perfect hybrid imbued with my power…"

"…The ultimate soldier" finished Hojo, an evil smile spreading across his face. "A fusion of human and Cetra." Making the final touches to his equations, he looked down at them, satisfied. "I'll present these calculations to Gast" he decided. "He won't be able to find any flaws in them; we can go straight ahead with the experiment…"

A wave of emotion emanated from the Ancient. In any other being, Hojo would have called it worry, but Jenova wasn't any other being, she was… Jenova. "Gast may have to be removed" she stated. "I doubt his willingness to see this through to completion."

The feeling that came over Hojo was worry, without question. Much as he liked to build up his own part in the Project, Gast was undeniably the lynchpin that held it together. If he started having misgivings about what they were doing…

"If he starts to falter…" Jenova pressed, massaging Hojos mind with her own. The scientist caved in to her insinuations without pause. 

"Then he will be dealt with accordingly." A scowl creased his features. "And that Turk." There was no disguising the hatred with which he filled the one little word.

Jenova assumed a soothing tone. "Do not worry about such minor concerns" she told him. "The Turk will be out of the way soon enough, and then the woman will be free of his interference."

Hojo looked up. "He will? What have you done?"

"Trust me" purred the Ancient. "It's all been taken care of…"

- - -

Lucrecia found Vincent in one of the small rooms downstairs. Once they had returned from their trip to the waterfall, she had gone back to the basement and he had gone about his own duties. She had been looking for him for a while now though, hoping that he could help her move some of the lab equipment which was too heavy for her to manage on her own.

Peering round the doorway, she saw him perched on the window ledge. His head was resting against the glass, chin cupped in one hand. That arm was propped up on his knee, while the other hung over the edge of the windowsill. He looked exhausted. Lucrecia was worried; she'd never seen him look so tired before.

"Vincent?"

He looked up, drawn out of whatever thoughts he was engaged in. He didn't reply, just started at her with worn out eyes. Immediately, she could tell something was wrong.

"Vincent? Vincent, what is it?"

It was a few moments before he answered, and when he did it was with a single word. "Preston."

A lump began to form in the petite scientist's throat. "What about Preston?" she ventured, not really sure she wanted to hear the answer, even though she had a nagging feeling she already knew what it was going to be.

Vincent's eyes dropped to the floor, and he rubbed his temple with his fingers. "He's dead" he stated simply, no emotion pulling at his voice.

Lucrecia couldn't bring herself to answer. In the year since she had first met the other Turks, she had grown to like them, and considered them if not friends, then good acquaintances. To hear that one of them was dead…

"He was assassinated in a bar in Midgar" Vincent went on in a monotone. "Linden and Deacon found him, but they were too late."

"Assassinated…?" It was difficult for to reconcile this information. She knew that the job was dangerous, but the men had always seemed so full of life, so competent, so… unassailable. This reminder of their mortality served to make her realise that none of them were untouchable, even her Vincent. Perhaps especially her Vincent. What if he were taken away from her…?

"As far as we know there was no motive for it. They located the assassin, but he had a cyanide cap in his mouth. Committed suicide before he could be questioned. ID said he was from Nibelheim."

Lucrecia bit her lip, anxious. "So… What are you going to do?" she asked. Vincent dropped his hand away from his head, and leant back against the window with a sigh.

"They're calling me back to Midgar for a while" he explained. "We can't function with only two Turks there and we have to get to the bottom of this soon in case we get hit again." Pushing himself up to standing, he walked over to the door to join her. "We need at least one new Turk, and I've got to get everything straight. Shinra's going to send some First Class SOLDIERS here while I'm away. Odin alone knows we can't spare another Turk…"

Lucrecia's heart welled up in sympathy. Gone was the happy, carefree man of only a few hours ago. In his place was a Turk who looked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "How long will you be gone?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Impossible to say… Two months? Three?" He noticed her crestfallen expression and attempted a smile, half-hearted as it was. Reaching out he cupped her face in his hand. "I don't want to leave you Lu. I just don't have any choice… It won't be long, and then I'll be back."

She tried to return the smile, but failed as tears brimmed in her soft brown eyes. Devastated that he had made her upset, Vincent leaned down to kiss them away. "I promise Lu, I'll come back as soon as I can." He enveloped her in his arms, holding her close.

"I know" she sniffed. "I guess I've just got used to having you around most of the time." She briskly wiped her eyes and made a concerted effort to regain her composure. "When do you leave?"

Vincent's eyes dropped to the ground once more. "This afternoon" he replied. "They're sending the chopper for me right now."

Lucrecia pulled her self upright and adjusted his jacket collar where she had been leaning on him. "Well you just take care of yourself" she ordered. "Make sure you pack everything, and eat well, and get plenty of rest and don't you dare get yourself killed, Vincent Valentine, or so help me Odin, I'll…"

In spite of everything he couldn't help but smile at her. "I promise" he said softly. "I love you, Lu. I'll come back and everything will be fine…"

- - -

"He's leaving?"

Hojo could barely contain his surprise and elation as Gast imparted the news to the small research team. Being head of the Project, Vincent had informed the Professor first, so that he could tell the others. Of course, Lucrecia already knew, a fact for which she was glad. She didn't know how she would have reacted to have heard it from Gast in front of everyone else…

It was all Hojo could do not to break into a broad grin. Instead, he stood there with a contented smirk on his face as Gast outlined the enforced change in security.

"…Only for a few months. After that, Mr Valentine will resume his duties here in Nibelheim."

Jenova's pleasure oozed its way into the Doctors' mind. He could feel her joy at having the meddlesome Turk removed, even for just a couple of months. Trying to keep his expression fixed on Gast, Hojo retreated into the back of his mind where the Ancient resided.

"You did this?" he asked incredulously. Jenova allowed the impertinence to go unpunished; nothing could ruin her good mood, even brainless puppets asking stupid questions.

"Did you doubt me?" The words immediately set Hojo mentally groveling, which pleased her even more. It was one of her more devious ploys, she had to admit. Although she hadn't been able to control the female scientist like she had Hojo, she had been managed to skim off a lot of details from her memory - places, people, data, friends… Turks. Pushing herself quickly into the mind of a grocery man as he made his weekly delivery, she had taken over his thought processes and sent him to Midgar, intent on assassinating one of the Turks taken from Lucrecia's mind. It seemed that the puppet had not failed her, and now the Turk here was being removed. By the time he realised what was going on it would be too late. Without his influence over her, the woman would give herself to the Project wholeheartedly.

Then no-one would be able to stop her.  



	25. Chapter 25

"And therefroe, it is with great pleasure that I award the Chair of the Science Division to Lucrecia Daley!" The President turned to her, offering his hand, which she gladly shook. Turning to face the immense audience, she took her rightful place at the podium to begin her speech. 

"Ladies, gentlemen…" she began. "I can't begin to express how much this means to me, to be here infront of you all today. To have been a part of such a momentous milestone such as the Jenova Project is simply overwhelming." Tears misted her eyes, and she paused to briefly dab them away. Gazing out into the sea of people, she saw Hojo standing in the front, a proud smile etched on his face. "I'd like to thank all those involved in the Project, not least of all Professor Hojo, without whom this would never have been possible." She gestured for him to join her on the podium. He looked down, embarrassed, but at repeated urgings and pushed from those behind him, he took a place at Lucrecia's side as she continued. "As the new Head of the Shinra Science Division, I pledge to you that I will continue Professor Gasts work. With our combined Mako and Jenova infusions, we have already created the best soldiers the company has ever seen. Now, going forward we will create the greatest soldiers the world has ever seen!"

Anything else she might have said was drowned in the roar of cheers and applause that followed her words. Raising her arms, she soaked up the acclaim, basking in the glory of her work.

Eventually, she waved a farewell to her beloved audience, and allowed herself to be ushered from the stage. As soon as she stepped off, she was surrounded on all sides by flocking admirers.

"Lucrecia, you were amazing…"

"Incredible, so good to see you again…"

"Miss Daley?" Lucrecia looked down, and saw the eager face of a child staring up at her. "When I grow up I wanna be just like you!" beamed the youngster. Reaching down to ruffle his hair, she bestowed a dazzling smile upon him before being swept away on a wave of adulation.

- - -

She awoke with a slight start, surprised to find that morning had come around so quickly. Of course, she realised. Today was Professor Gasts big meeting.

The Professor had been thrilled with the Project so far, indeed they'd managed to exceed everybody's expectations in just about every way. Fusions of Mako, Jenova and animal cells had provided spectacular results and the small team was way ahead of their planned schedule. Now Gast had called the group together to outline their next step.

Lucrecia could feel her excitement bubbling already. She had an inkling of what the big announcement was, and couldn't wait to find out how she could be a part of it.

Spurred on by Jenova's subtle manipulations, she hurriedly dressed and gathered her belongings.

- - -

Vincent sat behind his desk in Midgar, massaging his temples, with an array of manilla files spread out before him. Three weeks, and so far their investigations had produced the square root of FA. Zip. Nothing. 

He and Linden had spent well over four days going over what remained of the bar, sifting through the fragments trying to piece together an exact picture of what had happened. They'd spent the next two interviewing all the witnesses they'd rounded up. To give them some credit, a few nearby SOLDIERS had arrived on the scene not long after the incident, and had done a respectable job of getting names and addresses from survivors. A lot had slipped though the net though, and Vincent suspected that these people were the kinds who didn't want their information taken and therefore precisely the people he actually wanted to question.

Today, he had the unenviable task of going to the Shinra mortuary, where he would be given the results of two autopsies - Preston and his apparent killer. He didn't really see too much of a point, after all he knew already how both had died, but he had a vague hope that the coroner might have turned up some useful snippets of information. Still, he could safely say he wasn't going to relish the experience.

He'd given Deacon the job of trying to trace the assassin, figuring that the Turk's computing skills would be put to good use digging up some data. He'd had more luck than either of the other two, but every potential lead so far had wound up to be a dead end. Right now he was tracing some of the mans relatives. Fingers crossed one of them could shed some light on the situation.

There was also the pressing matter of recruiting another Turk to take Preston's place. Vincent had learned well from his predecessors, and kept a record of any potential candidates locked away in his office. It was a secretive process - none of the people knew that they were being watched - and one that only the leader of the Turks had the authority to carry out.

He ran his hands over the files infront of him, and the faces of five people looked back at him. Each one had the ability to become a Turk, and he had to find the right one. They came from variety of backgrounds too. One was from the Midgar slums, a second was a small time conman, another was a well off merchant's son that reminded Vincent somewhat of himself. One of them was even currently employed by Shinra, a man in the rank and file of the army. 

The task of ploughing through the records and making a decision sat squarely with Vincent. He'd already narrowed it down to these five - Preston has skills that needed replacing, and it was essential that the recruit filled the gap he'd left behind.

He picked up the file on the soldier and leafed through. Reconnaisance photographs, interviews, medical records, everything was there at his fingertips. Scanning the information, he rapidly reached the conclusion that this was not the candidate for the job. If he wanted brute force the man would have been ideal. But Preston's speciality had been undercover espionage, slipping into places unnoticed. The six foot muscle bound soldier in the file would stick out like a sore thumb in just about any environment. 

Adding the manilla to his 'Discarded' pile, he leafed through the next. A slight smile started to spread across his lips.

Kain Dawson, aka Daniel Law, aka Livingston Arden... The list went on for a good half page. The man had a list of aliases as long as Vincent's arm, and a crime record to match. For the most part nothing too serious - fraud seemed to be the overwhelming charge - but he spotted the odd GBH and assault in there as well. His photo gallery could almost be a mistake, as in no two pictures did he look the same. He'd even managed to pass as a Wutaian in one of them. Not bad going for someone from Mideel.

This was the con artist, a master of disguise who'd made his dubious (though highly successful) living by swindling large sums of money from naïve companies and investors. Vincent kept hold of this file.

The last three he whittled down to just the one; the well educated merchants son that had caught his eye in the beginning. Going by the name of Luca Healy, he appeared to be intelligent, good with weapons, and most intriguingly, had a flair for amateur dramatics.

Both of the remaining men looked ideal. The challenge now was to recruit one of them. As he'd found out years ago, Turk interview processes were simple and to the point: accept or die. So far he'd been lucky, having enlisted both Deacon and Linden without having to kill anyone, and he was hoping to keep that 100% track record in tact.

His musings wer interrupted by a sharp rapping at the door. "You free, boss?"

"It's open." Vincent put down his collection of paper and sat back in the chair as Deacon entered the room. "Got anything for me?" he asked optimistically. The Turk gave a cryptic half smile in reply. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"Both." Deacon located a spare chair and pulled it up to the desk. Taking a small disk out of his jacket pocket, he pushed it over the tabletop. "On here is everything I've been able to find out about our assassin" he explained. "The good news is that there's a fair bit."

Vincent took the disk and slotted it into the drive of his computer. "And the bad news?" he asked.

"No motive that I can establish."

"Damn."

This was the part where everything kept coming unstuck. No matter what new piece of information they dug up, none of them had been able to find a reason for why this had happened.

Vincent sighed. "So what do we have then?" he queried. "I'll go through this little lot later, just give me the specifics."

Deacon settled himself in the chair. "What we have is a man named Mitchell Houser, twenty three years of age. Born in Junon, moved to Nibelheim about five years ago with his parents."

"Any previous?"

"None. I checked with every law enforcement agency and he's clean as a whistle." The Turk shook his head. "That's one… issue we have. He's held down a job with the local store for three years, and according to his boss he was a perfect employee. That is until three days before the… incident." No Turk liked mentioning the word 'assassination' when applied to their own ranks, so they'd found a euphemism for it instead. "Apparently he didn't show up for work on the Tuesday, and when the shopkeeper popped over to the kids house to check up, no-one there knew where he'd gone. His mother said he'd left for work usual time, but something seems to have happened in between."

Vincent frowned, digesting the facts as they stood. "What would cause an average Nibelheim hick to suddenly drop everything and head to Midgar to kill himself and one of us?" he pondered aloud. It made no sense, and if there was one thing Vincent hated, it was things not making sense.

Deacon could only offer a hopeless shrug in return. "I investigated everything under the sun" he said ruefully, "and couldn't put together any connection between him and Preston. The only lead I've been able to get is you."

"Me?"

"You. This guy made the occasional delivery to the Shinra Mansion. Groceries and the like. You ever seen him?"

The leader of the Turks felt his frown deepen. "No" he said firmly. "I'm positive that I've never set eyes on him before. The housekeeper deals with the deliveries, and I didn't recognise this guy from his picture." Vincent was certain of that. Blessed with a near on photographic memory honed by his years in the elite group, he almost never forgot a face.

Deacon gave a resigned sigh. "Then that's screwed that lead too" he said wearily.

Vincent attempted a comforting expression, but didn't think he quite pulled it off as well as he'd hoped. "It's better than nothing" he said, "and it's more than we had before. Now I want you to collaborate with Linden, he should have all the info on people this Houser talked to here in Midgar."

The Turk nodded curtly and stood up. He almost got to the door before turning round again. Vincent's gaze had dropped back down to his desk, and he was resting his head in the palm of one hand. "Hey, boss?"

"Yes?"

Deacon bit his lip. He knew that Linden had been forbidden from interfering in this kind of thing, but that was Linden… "You er… spoken to Lucrecia recently?"

Vincent's face went carefully blank. "Not for a few days" he replied. "She's been busy in the labs a lot."

"Oh. Well, tell her Linden and I said 'hi' next time you call."

"I will."

- - -

The object of their discussions found herself seated in the Nibelheim basement, notebook in hand, staring up at the Project leader. Gast had an undeniable enthusiasm that infected everyone else in the room. Even Hojo had put off his usual sour demeanour. This morning, he only looked mildly annoyed with life.

Gast cleared his throat before starting the address. "Ahem… Well, I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here so precipitously" he began. "As you're all no doubt aware, the President is most pleased with what we have accomplished, and is eager for us to continue." Even the great Professor couldn't hold back the smile from his face. 

Behind the group, the Jenova specimin hovered in her tank, keeping a close watch over her puppets.

"I'm sure you're also aware that Doctor Hojo has been working on some complicated new biological formulae." The scientist in question nodded smugly towards the assembly. "The proposal that he and I have worked out would be a most perfect mix of everything we have learned so far."

The Professor scanned the three people in front of him, each leaning forward in barely concealed anticipation. His smile increased tenfold as he delivered the punchline.

"We're goin to run a new test. On a human embryo."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Tracking down the present whereabouts of Kain Dawson wasn't particularly difficult. At least, not once Vincent had discovered his latest alias. The conman was currently mired in an insurance scam, passing himself off as one Rikos Mitchell and conniving as many of Midgar's paranoid residents as possible out of large portions of their savings. 

Vincent lurked in the streets of Sector Two's lower plate slums, waiting for the man to put in an appearance. The troublesome part was that he wasn't totally sure what the man looked like. Every photograph seemed to show a different face, so they were of little help. The best he had to go on was a description from one of his sources down here. Taking into consideration that the aforementioned source was more often than not drugged up to his eyeballs, Vincent didn't hold out much hope that the description was in any way accurate.

So he remained wandering the street, keeping his eyes open for a man who might just fit in with what he knew.

After another hour, he decided that he'd looked in just about every shop window it was possible to look in. Any more and he'd be even more conspicuous than he was already. Spotting a small café over the road, he opted to take a break. Well, not so much a break, he reasoned. It was an excuse to sit outside and keep an eye open, even if he did have to nurse a coffee for a few more hours.

It proved to be a worthwhile idea. Not ten minutes after he'd parked himself in a chair, a man who met all of the sources' characteristics walked into the café. 

"Rikos Mitchell?"

The seated man looked up at the sound of his name. He saw a tall presence towering next to him. Smart, suited and quite out of place in the slums of Midgar. A confused expression passed over his face, followed by one of suspiscion. Something tugged at his memory.

"Do I know you?" he asked. "You look familiar… Did you buy a policy from me? Because if you're dissatisfied with your insurance in any way, the small print does tell you…"

Vincent shook his head. "I'm not a client. As such."

"Eh?"

"I have a proposition, Mr Mitchell. Or perhaps" he whispered, leaning closer, "I ought to call you Mr Dawson?"

This time, the range of expressions that the mans' face twisted into was almost comical to behold. After going through more confusion, surprise and worry, it finally settled on shock and panic. Things fell into place very rapidly after that.

"Turk!" he yelled, and bolted out onto the street, knocking over his chair and table, which sent his teacup flying into another patrons' lap. Vincent cursed. He hadn't expected the man to do a vanishing act, at least not this early in the proceedings. He hurdled the prone table, and sprinted off in pursuit, oblivious to the alarm caused in his wake.

He immediately spotted his target, running like a man possessed down the main road. The conman was no match for the finely tuned muscles of a Turk, and soon Vincent found himself gaining. Mitchell / Dawson made a break, hurtling down one of the side roads. According to Vincent's calculations, this was a bad move on the part of the runner. Sector Two alleys invariably ended up in dead ends, so it was just a matter of time.

He caught up with the man just as he ran headlong into one of the dead ends. Cornered, he looked frantically for an escape route. Catching a glimpse of a fire escape ladder attached to one of the buildings, he made a valiant attempt to climb it. It started a few feet above the ground, so he had to jump to get a grip; a task made all the more difficult by his refusal to let go of his briefcase. Apelike, he swung himself up and started scrabbling up the ladder.

Vincent took a second or two to appraise the situation, before pulling out his gun and firing. The bullet hit the top of the ladder, breaking clean through the mechanism that was holding part of it in place. Precisely the part that Mitchell / Dawson was using. He screamed in terror as the ladder slipped back down its tracks to the ground, taking him with it.

Caught like the proverbial rat in a trap, he took the only option left available to him, and collapsed into a gibbering wreck at Vincent's feet.

"For Odin's sake, don't kill me!" he begged, clutching his precious case to his chest. "I haven't done anything wrong! That insurance is guaranteed, just don't kill me!"

"Mr Dawson" Vincent began wearily, "if I wanted to see you dead, your body would already be cooling off in this alleyway." He tucked his gun away and hauled the conman to his feet. "As it is, I simply want to talk to you."

Dawson still regarded him with suspiscion, but he had to admit that when the Turks were trying to kill someone, they usually succeeded pretty quickly. He dusted himself off and tried to regain some semblance of his composure.

"OK, just don't call me 'Dawson'" he said. "I haven't gone by that name in years."

Vincent ignored the urge to roll his eyes. "I noticed that, Mr Mitchell" he commented, emphasizing the alias. "You're a difficult man to pin down."

Mitchell straightened himself up, evidence of pride appearing in his bearing. "Damn straight" he agreed. "And not without reason, too." His wariness took over from the pride once more. "So why are you after me? Is it the insurance?"

"No, it's not the insurance."

"The housing then? I swear on my mother's life that I didn't know those places were going to get demolished the week after I sold them…"

The Turk did roll his eyes this time. "Mr Mitchell, you don't have a mother. She died seven years ago."

Mitchell's double take was something to behold. "How in the hell did you know that?!"

"I know a lot about you" revealed Vincent casually. "I know about your family, your life, your little schemes… I'm guessing you've hit hard times if you're back down here in the slums."

The conman shuddered. "My last business venture didn't work out as well as I'd hoped" he confessed. "Though quite how you know so much about me…"

"Mr Mitchell" Vincent sighed. "It's my job to know about people. People like you, in particular." 

"People like me? But I haven't interfered with the Turks or anything!"

Vincent was beginning to question his judgement over letting this man join the Turks, but persevered, even in the face of adversity. He was sure it had never been this difficult before.

"I told you that I had a proposition for you" he said. "The proposition is this: I would like you to join the Turks."

"You want me to what?"

"Join the Turks. We are in need of a fourth member and you could fill the gap."

Mitchell seemed lost for words, a fact which Vincent found not at all unpleasant. He seemed to be gathering his wits. Clearly this encounter was not turning out as he'd thought.

"Let me get this straight" he began. "I recognize you now, you're Valentine, aren't you?" Vincent acknowledged the name with an inclination of his head. "And you want me to become a Turk?"

"I do."

Mitchell chewed on his lip. "How much of a choice do I get in the matter?" He regarded the Turk infront of him, who responded with a slight quirk of his lips and a small movement of the hand back towards his gun.

"How much do you think?"

The conman smirked briefly. "So you are here to kill me."

"Not necessarily. You do have the choice."

"But my options are limited to join or get shot, right?" 

Vincent smiled a smile without humour. "An accurate assessment."

Mitchell looked around him and gave a melodramatic sigh. "But I'm soooo happy with my life the way it is" he intoned. "The endless line of morons, the useless business partners, the sleeping in the slums…"

"Welcome aboard, Mr Dawson." Vincent gave a genuine smile this time, before herding the man out of the alleyway. One hundred percent track record still untarnished.

"For Shiva's sake, I thought I told you not to call me that!" Now he'd realised his life wasn't in danger, Mitchell was beginning to return to his usual self.

"If you're joining the ranks of the Turks, you will not go by any of your aliases" Vincent informed him. "And for the record – 'I thought I told you not to call me that, Sir'."

- - -

Late that night, Doctor Hojo once more found himself in the basement laboratory. For some reason he didn't seem to need to sleep as much these days. Instead, he preferred to spend as much time down here as possible, close to Jenova and the comfort she provided him with. 

His lab stool was drawn right up close to the specimin tank, and he leaned against it reassuringly, absent mindedly caressing the glass structure that housed the Ancient.

Jenova herself appeared inanimate, oblivious to his ministrations. Yet in his mind she talked to him constantly.

"The female is progressing well" the creature informed him. "She has the ambition I need and the seed has been planted in her mind. Already she is warming to the idea of becoming the host, though she does not yet know it." A note of satisfaction edged into the mental voice. "Things have been more acceptable without the Turk to hinder progress."

Hojo's face contorted at the mere mention of Lucrecia's partner. "Him! He has been nothing but trouble since the beginning! We are far better off with him out of the way." His voice dropped to a malicious whisper. "Out of the way permanently would be even better…"

The Cetra, having taken over Hojo's thoughts long ago, knew well his hatred for the man Vincent, and was pleased by it. "He will return. Eventually" she stated, "and he will not like what he will find here." The doctors response to that was plainly visible, even to one who did not have access to his brain. "He may have to be dealt with again. Perhaps" continued Jenova sweetly, "perhaps I shall give him to you this time."

There was no real need for her to increase her hold over Hojo, she already had him as pliable as she could ever desire. But to ensure his continued devotion and loyaty, she found it was always helpful to throw the occasional bone for her puppets. It made them love her all the more, drive them to even greater heights… Or depths. So she observed the scientist grovelling and fawning for a while, amused by his obsequiousness and willingness to serve.

"Make the suggestion to her in two days time" she instructed. "If she has not already thought of the idea herself, that is."

Both human and Ancient chuckled, in their own ways. They knew full well that Lucrecia would not agree to the plan of her own accord, that the extent of her co-operation in this part of the Project was controlled by Jenova. Certainly, she would think she'd made the decision herself. But the reality would be far from that assumption.  



	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

As he walked up what felt like the hundredth staircase this afternoon, Kain Dawson began to wonder just what the hell he'd gotten himself into. Up until this week, he'd never had cause to go inside the Shinra building before – his effectively small time fraud scams tended not to touch large companies who could fight back. 

He was being shown around by Linden, who had taken it upon himself to give the rookie the grand tour. That meant he'd spent roughly three hours so far being dragged up and down the HQ, introduced to people who's names he'd instantly forgotton, and given all manner of advice from others he doubted he'd ever see again.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Linden pushed open a set of double doors. "Behold" he intoned dramatically. "Weapons Development." He ushered his charge through, as Kain looked round, clearly out of his depth. "This is where all the fun stuff happens" said the Turk conversationally. "Practically my favourite department in fact."

"Practically? So what's your favourite?"

"Secretarial typing pool."

Kain got the feeling he should have seen that one coming. A few days spent in Linden's company had been most… enlightening. The man didn't seem at all like a Turk. Or rather, he wasn't the spitting image of what Kain had thought a Turk should be. Neither had the other one, the guy they'd introduced as Deacon. The only person who appeared to live up to the reputation was their leader…

Linden swiped a passcard through a reader and escorted him through some more doors. These ones opened into a laboratory of some kind, at least, that was what Kain assumed from the sterile looking plain white walls and men in spotless labcoats. Upon closer inspection however, he began to realise that this wasn't your average run-of-the-mill lab. His first clue was a man hunched over a table, intensely scrutinising a sandwich. Either he was incredibly picky about his food, or something strange was going on here. Another man was stood in a panelled off enclosure, pointing an umbrella at a dummy. Kain resisted the urge to stare.

"OK now" said Linden, interrupting the rookie's thoughts. "I'm gonna introduce you to Retro. He'll get you all kitted up."

"Retro?" 

The Turk gave him a knowing grin. "You'll see." They weaved their way through the room, until they found a middle aged man playing with a PHS. A vast array of tools was laid out in a haphazard manner on his desk, while he tinkered inside the device with a screwdriver. A thin plume of smoke drifted up from the back of it. Kain decided to keep a safe distance in case the thing went off.

Linden showed no such concern. "Retro! How ya doing man?" he asked cheerily, slapping the weapons developer on the back. "I've brought the new guy along. Can we get him sorted?"

Retro looked up from his work. "New Turk, eh?" he asked rhetorically. "I think we should be able to provide most of what he needs." He put down the screwdriver and PHS, which was now beginning to emit a rather worrying burning smell. "Come with me then, I don't have all day…"

The pair followed him towards a small office room full of cupboards. As they walked, Kain leaned over to Linden. "Is he OK?" he whispered conspiratorially. "I mean he seems a bit… You know…"

Linden nodded. "Oh yeah. He is. But he's also the best developer of weaponry that the company has ever seen. So we tend to ignore the fact that he's a little…"

"Nuts?"

Entering the room, Retro bad them take a seat whilst he searched through some drawers. "Right, first things first" he announced, producing a smooth black gun. "Standard issue Turk revolver. Complete with clips and silencer." He arranged a set of accessories on a table and gestured for Kain to take them. "We can get you whatever else you need, once you've found you weapon of choice. In the meantime, this should be enough to keep you out of danger."

"My weapon of choice?" Kain had the distinct feeling that all he was doing was repeating what everyone else was saying, and it was beginning to make him feel foolish.

Thankfully Linden was on hand to explain. "There's no strict rules as to what weapon you use" he said. "So we can all find something that suits us best. I prefer these little guns, whilst Deacon has a huge mother of a rifle. Vincent of course has an entire room at his place full of guns, but then again he would." Kain sensed there was some kind of joke hidden there, but wasn't quite sure what it was. He gave a spirited smile though, to try and keep up.

In the meantime, Retro had located some more objects and was spreading them out infront of the Turks. Kain did a doubletake when he saw exactly what the objects were. "Bubble gum?" he asked incredulously. "And biros? You bring me up here for a quick snack and a company pen?"

Retro sighed and shook his head. "Just what kind of Turk have you recruited this time?" he demanded of Linden, who simply grinned and shrugged. The developer pointed at the gum. "This is not simply chewing gum" he explained. "This is high powered plastic explosive designed to look like chewing gum. And these biros, as you call them, can fire projectiles."

"You're kidding me."

To demonstrate his point, the weapons developer picked up one of the pens and stalked outside. Locating the nearest dummy, he pointed the biro at it, and tapped the end. Nothing happened.

Kain smirked. "Well" he started, "if that was supposed to…" His comment was cut abruptly short by the sudden and rather violent explosion of the dummy. Retro turned round and beamed. "Holy shit."

A short while later, the pair of Turks left the laboratory, one considerably more tooled up than he had been when he came in.

"So let me get this straight" muttered Kain. "You call the most technologically advanced guy in the whole company, a guy who I'm sure has more gadgets and gizmos than anyone else on this planet, you call this man 'Retro'?"

Linden gave a wry smile. "Yep. Not sure how that happened really. I think it was a Vincent thing and the nickname stuck."

"I've been meaning to ask about Vincent…" They reached the Turks Lounge, where each collapsed into one of the comfy chairs. "What's his deal?"

"His deal?"

"I can't work him out at all." Kain lodged his chin in the cup of one hand. "I mean one minute he's normal, the next he's scaring the shit out of me."

The more senior Turk had to agree. "Vincent is… complicated" he said at length. "I've known him for a few years now, and I still don't think I totally get him. He's a damn good Turk, probably the best we've ever had. I don't mind admitting that. He's just not the most sociable of people I guess."

Kains' sarcasm was evident. "No. Really?"

Linden rolled his eyes. "He takes the job very seriously. It's all about how he deals with things. Same goes for each of us, but you'll find that out for yourself soon enough."

Their musings were interrupted by the object of conversation poking his head round the door. "My office. Ten minutes." Then he disappeared again.

"You see what I mean about serious?"

- - -

"Professor?"

"Yes?" Gast turned around, and smiled when he saw the diminutive form of Lucrecia standing behind him. "Ah, what can I do for you?" he asked kindly.

The young scientist looked pensive, as she toyed with a lock of hair. "I've been thinking" she began. "About the Project, I mean…" From his desk in the corner, Hojo's earns pricked up. Without drawing attention to his movements, he carefully shifted round to hear the conversation more clearly.

Professor Gast looked on encouragingly. "What about it?" he enquired. 

"Um… Well, we're all set to go, aren't we? We've got the Mako cells, we've got the Jenova cells, we've got the technology… There's just one thing we're missing, isn't there?" The strands of hair in her fingers were subjected to more vigorous twisting.

"What are you getting at?"

"We still need a host. And I was thinking that maybe… I could be it."

Neither scientist noticed the sly smile that was beginning to cross Hojo's face. Bless Jenova, the Ancient was right! The damn fool woman had put herself forward as the test subject without prompting. Well, without any human prompting, anyway. Truly the powers of the Cetra were something to behold!

"I mean" Lucrecia hurriedly went on, "we'll need someone young, and healthy. And if the host is someone who knows about the Project and understands it, then wouldn't that be the best idea?" The words rushed out of her mouth, as she tried to express what her mind was telling her. "So I am volunteering. Myself. If you think it's a good idea…"

Professor Gast placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "My dear Lucrecia" he said comfortingly. "I can't think of a single person who would be better for this task. And I'm sure Doctor Hojo would agree with me, wouldn't you Doctor?"

Hojo looked up, in pretence of not having heard them talking. "Eh? What?"

"Lucrecia here has put herself forward to be the carrier of our Project specimen. I think it's a capital idea, don't you?"

The Doctor nodded casually. "Yes, I'm sure that will be most satisfactory" he said, keeping his outward appearance as cool as he could manage.

"And of course" carried on Gast, "as you know, Doctor Hojo has volunteered to provide half of the genetic material. So really we're all set to go."

Lucrecia nodded. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, a voice, trying to tell her something. But it seemed to be coming from so far away, she could not make it out. Never mind, she thought. It can't be that important. "So how are we going to proceed?"

Gast pulled out some of his own notes from on top of the tabletop. "The original plan was to carry out an artificial insemination upon the host. After a short period of time, we will begin to introduce the Jenova cells. I see no reason to change that plan, do you?"

His colleagues shook their heads. "In that case" declared the Professor, "I think we should start immediately. Agreed?" The consensus was unanimous, and the three rushed to begin the thousand and one little tasks that would would need to be completed before they could get underway.

In the deepest recesses of her mind, the part of Lucrecia that was still Lucrecia beat furiously against an invisible, solid barrier. She shouted and screamed, but the cocoon Jenova had wrapped around her consciousness closed in and drowned her words.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

The sun was beginning to drop from the sky by the time the scientists had prepared all the necessary equipment for the procedure. Lucrecia, asleep under a general anesthetic, lay delicately upon a surgical trolley in the lab, complex pieces of equipment plugged into and over her body.

Gast and Hojo stood nearby, the Professor observing a computer screen and giving orders, whilst Hojo carried them out. 

"A few degrees to the left."

Hojo adjusted one of the machines, which emitted a series of blips and clicks. "Better?"

"Yes… Yes, that's it. Set the thing off, and we should have a clear picture in a few moments."

A few more button presses, and the equipment hummed into life. A scanning device passed over the prone Lucrecia, shining a probing light onto her and sending the information back to the terminal.

The images were just appearing on the screen when Gast raised his eyebrows sharply in surprise. "Well…" he said at length. "It appears that our job has just been made ten times easier." 

Hojo bustled forward, peering round the Professor's shoulder. "Eh? Why?"

"She's already pregnant."

"She's what?!?"

Now that was a surprise to both scientists. Gast pointed at the reading on his monitor. "Lucrecia is already pregnant. See here?" His finger drifted over a portion of the screen. "Not very far along by the looks of it. Impossible to tell, but I'd say four, maybe five weeks gone."

Hojo frowned, his brow creased deep in thought, as Jenova bombarded his mind. "Do you think she knows?" he asked, voicing the Ancient's question aloud. Gast shook his head slowly. 

"I do not believe so" he replied carefully. "This early on, I doubt she'd be aware yet. And the embryo is still undeveloped enough for us to begin our infusions." The Professor stroked his chin as something else occurred to him. "Of course, if she doesn't know herself, then it's most unlikely that the father does either."

The pair exchanged glances. Now that was a stumbling block if ever there was one. Unless Lucrecia had been up to more than anyone had known, there was little question as to who the child owed the other half of it's parentage to. And that man would not idly stand by and give his child to the Project.

"Should we tell her? Or him?" Jenova prompted Hojo to ask the one thing on everyone's mind. The Doctor of course was perfectly happy to proceed and keep both parties in the dark. But the Cetra had suspicions about Gast's devotion to the cause. Was he sufficiently under the influence to surpress the true lineage of the child? It took an almost unbearable amount of time for the Professor to answer.

"…No." If Jenova could heave a sigh of relief, then that was certainly what the creature was doing now. Hojo definitely felt her relax at the statement. "We will continue as if the artificial insemination had taken place and she will not know any different. An emotional attachment to the child could be problematic." Gast rubbed at his forehead, and his face momentarily twisted with pain. "She will never know the difference." He hissed as another lance of pain shot through his temple. "Would… Would you excuse me for a moment, Hojo?" he asked. "Just need a glass of water…"

Hojo waved him on, newly enlightened as to the source of the Professors choice. Jenova found Gast more difficult to control, and consequently whenever she exerted her influence over him, it tended to leave the man with a splitting headache. The feeling Hojo was getting from the Ancient though was one of immense satisfaction though, and it wasn't long before he felt her presense in his mind.

"The choices have been well made" she pronounced. "Events have turned in favour yet again."

"You're not displeased?" Hojo was surprised and if he was honest, a little taken aback. He'd expected to provide half of the genetic material for the Project specimin himself.

"The Turk is stronger and faster" Jenova told him. "I am creating a soldier, not a scientist." Hojo seemed oblivious to the phrasing of 'she was creating', not 'you' or even 'we'. "His DNA will be a good framework for me to build upon."

Hojo accepted her reasoning without question. He always did. He was, however, still annoyed by the mere idea that the Turk had got there first, even if he was blissfully unaware of the fact. That pain was eased a little though by the knowledge that as far as Vincent was concerned, Hojo would be the father of Lucrecia's child. If that didn't make the damned man crack then nothing would.

- - -

"Well boss?"

Four Turks sat in their lounge inside Shinra HQ. Three old, one rookie. Kain had been a Turk for just under a week, but already he was fitting in nicely. It was strange, thought Vincent. Each of them missed Preston in his own particular way, yet they had all accepted Kain quickly and without incident. He supposed that it was a neccessity of Turk life. Your colleagues could be taken from you at any moment, you needed to be able to adapt. That was also why Turks were required to have as few personal ties as possible, though he knew he was violating that particular unwritten law by seeing Lucrecia.

Lucrecia… How that name churned him up inside. He prided himself on being a man who kept his emotions closely pinned down and subdued – again, it was part and parcel of being a Turk. But it had been so long since he had seen her face, her smile… Even since he had spoken to her. She'd been busier than normal recently, and he'd only managed a couple of brief words. Not that this had had any bearing on what he was about to say. Of course not.

"Boss?"

He dragged himself back to the meeting, since he was the one who had called it. "I'm returning to Nibelheim in two days" he announced. "We've been able to uncover nothing more about our mystery assassin, and we're wasting time going round in circles." Deacon looked quizzical. "Our man came from Nibelheim. The President also wants me to go resume my mission there. I can kill two birds with one stone and undertake some intelligence gathering whilst I'm at the Mansion."

Kain gingerly raised his hand, still a little unsure of procedures. "Er…"

"What is it?" Vincent trained his eyes on the rookie, making the new Turk shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He still wasn't used to the groups' leader. Frankly the man fair put the wind up him, even though he didn't have a gun to his head.

"What Nibelheim mission?"

Naturally, Vincent realised, Kain was too new to know about that yet. Unfortunately Linden filled in the information before anyone else could get a word in edgeways. "He's babysitting a batch of eggheads in some Mansion out in the middle of no-where" he said brashly. "One of whom" he sang, winking at Kain, "just happens to be his little girlfriend." 

"The President" Vincent was forced to stress, "is running an important Project in Nibelheim, for which he demands the highest level of security. I am that security."

"But it's true about the girlfriend."

Vincent glared daggers at Linden, who got the message and promptly closed his mouth. "Now. I don't have enough time to complete your formal training. We've made a start, but I'm going to leave it up to these two to fill in the gaps and get you up to speed on everything." Linden gave a chirpy thumbs up in Kain's direction.

Deacon provided a voice of reason amongst the group. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know" replied Vincent honestly. "The Project takes as long as it takes. But Odin help me, I'm putting Linden in charge till then." The Turk in question jumped up from his chair with a whoop, punching the air.

"Oooo yeah baby!"

The leader of the Turks rapidly started questioning the wisdom of that particular choice. "Don't make me regret it" he said firmly, though he doubted he would have cause. He had worked with Linden long enough to know how the man operated. Sure, he had a more in-your-face attitude than most people, and his sense of humour was mired in the gutter, but he was a good man, who would do the job well in Vincent's absence.

Now he had a few hours to spare before heading off home to pack up his belongings again. And in that time, there was somewhere he wanted to go first.

- - -

Lucrecia woke up in the lab bed, still a little woozy from the anesthetic she'd been given. Groggily she rubbed her eyes, and sternly ordered her senses to co-operate with what her brain was telling them to do. Getting her bearings, she pushed away the sheets and swung her legs over the side to sit up.

"Urgh…" It felt like her brain was following a few seconds behind the rest of her body. Luckily Gast walked into the room in time to notice her nearly swoon off the trolley and steady her.

"Careful now Lucrecia" he warned in a friendly fashion. "We can't let anything happen to you now, you're the Project's most prized possession. Here, take this."

She smiled at the praise, and accepted the drink that the Professor offered her. Sipping the cold liquid, she found that her balance was beginning to return to her. "It went alright then?" she enquired, even having just undergone an operation, she was still eager for news about the procedure. Gast's nod was reassuring.

"It was a complete success" he said proudly. "We should be ready to start the Jenova infusions in a few days."

Lucrecia was surprised. "A few days? That soon?" She drained her glass before handing it back. "I thought we would require slightly more foetal development?"

The Professor's hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second which, in her current state, Lucrecia was unable to notice. "Not at all. The sooner we begin, the better." He placed the glass down on a sideboard and offered her his assistance in standing. "Now, you may want to lay down for a while, until the anesthetic has worn off" he advised. "We can't have you pushing yourself now, can we?"

"Yes" she said. "I think I will, if you don't mind."

The Professor watched Lucrecia make her way out of the lab and up the stairs before returning to his own desk. Hojo was sitting nearby, and looked up upon Gasts return. "Well?"

"She's gone to get some sleep."

"You didn't tell her?"

Gast shook his head, an action which seemed to trigger his headache again. "No. She simply knows that she now carries an embryo for the Project." He massaged his forehead once more. "In fact, that seems like a good idea. I could use some rest myself…"

Soon, Hojo was alone again. Except that with Jenova floating in her tank, he was never alone.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29 

"Well well, look what the cat dragged in."

This simply had to be a record. He'd been back a sum total of five minutes, and already Hojo was pissing him off. Somewhat wistfully perhaps, Vincent had hoped that he wouldn't have to talk to the irascible Doctor for a while after returning. A few days, maybe. Weeks would have been nice. Wishful thinking. Evidently the Crackpot had heard the chopper arrive and decided to form a little one man welcome committee.

Fine. Two could play at that game. "Delightful to see you too, Hojo" said Vincent, breezing past the scientist. "Words cannot describe just how much I've missed you." He strode up the swooping staircase towards his room, his long stride forcing Hojo into an undignified scuttle to keep up.

"Very good, Turk" smirked the Doctor as he shuffled along behind. "I would assume that hitman humour is something only your kind find amusing." 

Vincent sighed and rolled his eyes. Stopping suddenly on the landing, he dropped his suitcase and turned to face Hojo. "Is there something you actually want?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest impatiently. "Or did you just feel like following me round like a sheep for a few hours?"

The Doctor stopped short. In crossing his arms, Vincent had artfully exposed the twin pistols he kept on his hips, and Hojo had no intention of being on the receiving end of those, no matter how fun it was to irritate the blasted Turk.

"Gast wants specimins" he replied brusquely. 

Vincent merely raised an eyebrow. "And?" 

"And you can go and get them!" The doctor explained with evident frustration. "Go out, shoot something and bring it back. Alive though, so you might have to use what little passes for your brain." Vincent's expression didn't falter, but his hands edged unerringly towards his guns - a motion that Hojo didn't fail to notice. "Gast says it's urgent!"

"I'm sure it is" replied Vincent calmly, "though I expect that the Professor worded his request slightly more eloquently than you did." He picked up his cases and resumed his previous course towards his room.

Hojo remained glued to the spot, his brow creasing into a heavy scowl as the suited back of the Turk moved away. He spun round and headed for the lab before pausing and twisting back. 

"Things change, Turk" he called out. "People… change." Vincent halted midstep but didn't turn, didn't speak. "A few weeks can make all the difference" Hojo continued maliciously. "Remember that." 

Was the scientist finally losing his mind or was that supposed to be some kind of threat? Vincent wondered. Either way, he didn't have time for this. Putting Hojo behind him, he marched up to his bedroom door and unlocked it.

Evidently the maid had quartered the SOLDIERS sent to replace him elsewhere, for his room was still as he had left it. Hauling his luggage onto the bed, he rapidly began to unpack, whilst mentaly running through a check list of things he needed to do.

First things first, he had to alert the SOLDIERS that they were free to return to normal duty. The chopper that dropped him off was returning to Midgar, so would take them with it. He also needed to get full reports from them of everything that had happened during his abscence before they departed. Then he supposed he would have to carry out Gast's orders and hunt down a specimin or two, which would take a while. He'd been hoping to pop down to the lab and see Lucrecia too - what with one thing and another, he didn't think they'd been able to have a proper conversation since he'd left. Idly he toyed with a small box in his jacket pocket, running his fingers over the velvet.

Whilst he'd been languishing in Midgar, he'd reached a decision. In a way, it had been one of the most difficult he'd ever had to make, but at the same time there was almost no question of him not making it. The unwritten laws of the Turks said no emotional attachment, no involvement. It was easier that way, they all knew it. But he was choosing to put those rules aside and ask Lucrecia to marry him.

He couldn't stop a small suggestion of a smile creeping across his face at the thought. Who would have believed he would ever have found himself in the position to make that choice? Certainly if you'd asked him a year or so ago, then he would have laughed the idea down as preposterous. Vincent Valentine, leader of the Turks and cold-blooded killing machine, settling down into married life? Ridiculous. But now, having spent these past weeks apart from Lucrecia, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

Too much to do now though, he knew. This would have to wait for the right moment. Carefully placing the jewellery box on his bedside cabinet, he equipped himself with the requisite number of firearms, and hauled a large shotgun over his shoulder for good measure. 

- - -

Having gleaned as much information from the SOLDIERs as humanly possible, it was a slightly worried Vincent that made his way down the stone spiral staircase and into the laboratory. 

The impression he'd been able to get from the guards was that things had been picking up over the past two weeks. The scientists had started some new kind of project, and had virtually holed up in the basement. Vincent had been unable to determine exactly what was going on - SOLDIERs were not Turk trained, and whilst they were very good at providing a protective presence, they didn't pay attention to most of the things that he would have done. In fact, the men had seemed to keep as far from the lab as they could, a fact which annoyed Vincent more than a little.

They said the place was creepy, a fact he couldn't really deny. The Jenova specimin had that effect on people. The SOLDIERs had taken one look at the alien creature in her tank and swore never to go near it again. They'd spent most of their time patrolling the perimeter.

Vincent had to admit to being concerned. From what he gathered, the scientists (Lucrecia included) had barely come out of the lab for weeks, emerging only for food, and even then not on a regular basis.

Pushing open the door, he could see only Gast working at the main desk. The Professor looked up as the Turk strode in.

"Mr Valentine" he exclaimed. "I didn't expect to see you…"

"Why not?" Vincent queried.

Was it his imagination, or did the Professor seem a little out of sorts? He brushed it off. He'd been away for a while, not been around them for weeks.

"Didn't Doctor Hojo give you my message? I'm in dire need of some specimins to test."

Vincent nodded. "I was just on my way to collect them" he replied, indicating the shotgun. "I was wondering though if there was any kind of animal in particular you wanted?"

Gast shook his head. "No, no… Anything will do really. As long as it's alive." He went back to his work for a few seconds before looking back up to where Vincent was still standing. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes, I was hoping to speak to Lucrecia before I…"

"She's busy."

No, there was definitely something there, he could tell. An edge to the man's voice as he interrupted. He'd heard that kind of edge before, in prisoners he'd interrogated. Prisoners trying to convince him that they knew nothing and weren't worth bothering with.

He quickly scanned the lab, noticing some movement in the room behind. Hojo walked past his line of vision, holding a syringe filled with some green liquid. No sign of Lucrecia. His eyebrows pulled together in the beginnings of a frown.

"Alright" he agreed slowly. "I'll come by again later." But Gast wasn't listening, he was once more engrossed in his work.

From his position inside the next room, Hojo watched Vincent leave. The Doctor smirked as he double checked his syringe. Perfect. He picked up a small cotton wool pad with his spare hand and dabbed at Lucrecia's arm.

Lucrecia herself said nothing as Hojo eased the needle into her skin and injected the viscous gloop inside. She heard the exchange outside, knew that Vincent had returned, yet she was unable to react. Her heart was overjoyed that her lover was back, and longed to see him, yet something stopped her. Her heart was pleased, but the voice in her head warned her away, knowing that he would cause trouble. 

He'll get in my way, he'll stop me. He doesn't want me to succeed…

Her thoughts were broken as the Jenova infusion began to flow throughout her body. This was the third now, but still they felt… She couldn't begin to describe how it felt, like a prickling sensation in all her veins. Pins and needles, only… not.

For his part, Hojo could sense Jenova's pleasure that the experiment was going according to plan. The Ancient had informed him that she could already feel her cells taking hold of the embryo, something which Hojo had not anticipated. Apparently Jenova was still in some way connected to the child, there was a link there. Different to the one he shared with the creature, and again, different to that the Cetra had with Gast and Lucrecia. He wondered how that would develop. But that was something to look into at a later stage. For now, he had to ensure that the child absorbed the Mako and Jenova cell mix.

- - -

Vincent was not in the best of moods. His hunting was proving problematic, and not for the reasons he'd expected. There was no shortage of creatures lurking in the Nibel mountains, more than usual for this time of year in fact. It was more the problem of shooting one so that it wasn't injured mortally, but still enough to stop it trying to take off his arm when he went to retrieve it. A nasty gash in his formerly immaculate sleeve stood testament to that.

The first couple of beasts, he'd been too good. His aim with the shotgun was true and he'd killed them straight out. That was no help to Gasts' experiment. Next time, he'd aimed for a less critical area, but still the animal had died. The shotgun's ammunition was too powerful it appeared. So he had to use his pistols instead.

Unfortunately, these weren't as effective against Nibel monsters as the shotgun. The bullets hardly penetrated the tough exterior of the creatures, and their main weak points just happened to be the places that would kill them instantly. He fired off a few more rounds at the animal that was even now charging him down. It failed to slow down.

"Shiva's sake, these things are armour fucking plated…"

He dived to one side into a roll, thankfull that he was at least faster than these damned monsters. As he did so, he used the weapon in his left hand to send some more hot lead screaming into the creatures side. It cried out loudly, a good sign as far as Vincent was concerned. He was also heartened by seeing a stream of blood starting to ooze from two of the bullet wounds. 

Five minutes later, the beast lay on the ground, exhausted. Some more well placed shots had caused a large amount of bloodloss, and all he'd had to do then was tire it out. Binding the monster's mouth and legs securely (he wasn't making the same mistake twice, he thought with a wry look at his tattered sleeve), he hauled the injured creature back to the Mansion.

Gast was less than overjoyed at the specimin Vincent presented him with. Alright, so the day was getting on a bit, but the Professor hardly acknowledged him when he bundled the monster onto a lab trolley.

"Is Lucrecia…"

"She's gone to bed."

Another monosyllabic, barely courteous answer. Vincent was beginning to get suspiscious. Certainly the Project team had been working extremely hard, but Gast always had a kind word, a friendly smile… Didn't he? The Turk frowned once more as he left the lab, something he seemed to be doing a lot today.

Stalking up the stairs, he paused outside Lucrecia's room, whilst on the way to his own. Maybe she was still up? Besides, he'd prefer to talk to her alone than with Hojo or Gast watching.

"Lucrecia?" he called softly, rapping on the door with his knuckles. "Lu, are you awake?" He was greeted with silence. He couldn't see any light shining through the keyhole, so tried again. "Lu?"

Gently he tried turning the door handle. He'd been a late night visitor to her room many times in the past, and she had never minded. The door refused to budge. Locked.

He had a master set of keys to all the doors in the Mansion, but he decided to leave her be. If Lucrecia had been working hard all day then she was probably tired and asleep already. He wouldn't disturb her now. Turning away from the door, he tried to mask his disappointment and made for his own room.

She heard him arrive, She heard him whisper her name in that loving voice. And she heard him leave. Lucrecia lay on the soft covers fo her bed, staring up at the ceiling. No matter how hard she had tried to call out to him, in spite of her efforts to stand up and unlock the door, she had failed. Instead, all she could do was lie there, some great invisible weight keeping her in place.  



End file.
